Small Print
by RobinRocks
Summary: Cowritten with Narroch. An Apprentice rewrite with a wicked psychological twist. Can you truly be a victim when you're the only one who believes that you aren't? COMPLETE.
1. That Damn Small Print

I lied. No, really, I did. I wrote _Ultimately_ – a random RobinSlade slash drabble – and then said I wouldn't ever write another RobinSlade slashy thing ever. That resolution didn't even last a week. It's just too _fun_… Seriously, I never used to go in for the whole RobinxSlade thing; it never _bothered_ me, I just sort of steered clear of it. But if you watch the show, you can see where these assumptions of Robin and Slade having a mutual "attraction" for one another come from. I mean, obviously the cartoon isn't actually _implying_ it (they're too busy trying to shove StarfirexRobin "Keep-in-with-the-80s-Marv-Wolfman-KoryxDick-storyline" down our throats) because it is, for the most part, a cartoon for _kids_. But then you get these darker episodes – the ones aimed at perhaps an _older_ audience, such as _our_ age group – such as _Haunted_ (my very favorite _TT_ episode ever) and _Apprentice Pt II_ (and _The End_, but don't get me _started_ on the wonders of those three episodes - _AmazinginsyncRobinandSladefightscene_…). So, in all fairness, I have to say that I pretty much support StarxRobin on the show, although I like to _write_ Robinx_Raven_ because you can get a deeper relationship between them.

But RobinxSlade _is_ inspired; I believe that. Some of Slade's lines are just _begging_ to be misinterpreted; e.g. "It's always been about _you_" can be translated as "I never paid very much attention to your team mates because I was always too busy checking out your ass". And _Haunted_? Robin strapped down with Slade looming over him? Uh, _hello?_ Children's cartoon?…

_Anyway_… I have been inspired by many sources (one by one readers click _Back_ as they get the wrong impression…) and figured, "Hey! So many _other_ people have fucked up _Apprentice_ by reading too much into it! Why not me too?"… So here I am – stalling while I wait for people to review _Asylum_ – and here _you_ are, and, well… here my one-shot is…

I shall stall you no more.

Small Print

"…_No way would I ever work for-"_

"_If you swear to serve me; if you do everything I ask of you; if you never speak to your friends again… I will allow them to live. But, if you disobey even the smallest request… I will annihilate them, Robin. And I will make you watch… So; do we have a deal?…"_

The room was tiny. Like a box. A cage, even. Reinforced metal walls, all too close. It was too small, the ceiling was too low. He could stand up straight, obviously, and he could not touch both walls with his hands if he stood in the middle of the room.

It was big _enough_.

But small all the same.

And locked.

His knuckles ached from where he had already pounded for all he was worth on the steel door. The muscles in his legs hurt from where he had kicked it. Still it stood strong. Not a dent in it.

Slade had dragged him here, thrown him in, quite literally kicking and screaming in protest, and locked him up tight. Let him hammer against it from the inside, shrieking, stifling his sobs.

Left him.

When you buy a pet, you buy a cage for it, too. Preferably beforehand, so that when you acquire it, you have somewhere to put it without it wriggling from your grasp and escaping. This room had been prepared beforehand. Because Slade had _known_ he would acquire what he wanted. His precious new apprentice. He had blackmailed him, knowing he wouldn't refuse.

Not when he held their lives in his hand.

It was so dark now the teenaged boy could barely see anything. There was a tiny window that let in a little moonlight; it had bars across it. He was curled up on the floor, just sitting in the middle of the room, his head on his knees.

Clothed in his new attire. Wearing Slade's symbol, his brand. Like a tattoo. Bearing it to show to whom he belonged.

Not a _bat_.

There was no bed, just a few blankets on the floor. There was nothing to eat, nothing to drink. All of the weapons in his belt had been removed to stop him from _blowing_ his way out.

He was stuck until Slade let him out again.

Until his training began.

Or until he escaped.

He lay back on the cold floor and closed his eyes, contemplating how to get that control. Once he had it, Slade would be powerless against him. He would have nothing to threaten him with.

Nothing to taunt him with.

hrank from himcast in the doorway.door. st him. ontemplating how to get that control. ing from your grasp and escaping. 1111111There came a sound from beyond the heavy door. Robin sat up quickly, tensing as he heard the multiple bolts becoming unlocked. The door swung back and Slade's powerful silhouette was cast in the doorway. Robin shrank from him as he swept into the tiny room, nearly all of him obscured by shadow.

His grey eye glittered with a malicious delight.

"Get up, boy," he ordered softly.

Determined to show that he was not afraid, Robin got to his feet, clenching his fists.

Shaking inside.

"We're starting the training already?" He asked carefully. "At this time of night?"

Slade snorted in contempt.

"Something like that," he murmured.

He grasped Robin's thin wrist and hauled him forwards, dragging him from the room, pulling him down the corridor. Another door opened and Slade threw Robin into the main room of his lair.

Gears turned in the darkness that stretched above. In the middle of the room, half-shadowed in the narrows shafts of light present in the room, Slade's throne-like chair sat.

Getting to his feet again, Robin turned to Slade.

"I'm ready for anything you throw at me," he spat.

Slade smirked beneath his mask.

"I certainly hope so," he replied smoothly.

The tone of his voice sent a shudder down Robin's spine and he backed up, moving away from Slade.

Ignoring him, Slade sailed past him, making for his chair. He settled into and leaned back, closing his solitary eye. Watching him, Robin's entire form tightened, aching muscles pulling as he lowered into an almost-imperceptible battle stance.

Waiting for Slade to inevitably attack him.

"Come here, boy."

Slade did not open his eye as he gave the order, but seemed to realise that Robin hesitated and remedied it by casually holding up the hand with the trigger in it.

Robin obediently went to him, standing in front of the single step leading up to Slade's "throne".

"Kneel."

"Never," Robin hissed.

Slade held up the trigger again, his thumb millimetres from the button.

"Unless you wish for your arrogance and insolence to be the cause of their demise, I suggest you do what is asked of you, young man," he replied, his tone soft and mocking.

"You didn't _ask_ me," Robin said through gritted teeth.

Slade's eye opened again.

"You contradict me, impudent child?" He laughed softly, running his thumb lightly over the button. "You must really _desire_ for me to kill them…"

"No!" Robin half-reached for it and Slade withdrew it right away from him. "Please don't…"

"Then _kneel_."

Robin sank to his knees before Slade's chair, looking at the floor, burning.

"There's my boy."

"I'm not your boy."

Slade laughed again, his eye settling on the "S" on the chest of Robin's new black and bronze uniform.

"_Aren't_ you? Your attire begs to differ."

Robin shivered for a few seconds, then looked up at Slade.

"What do you want?"

"To teach you by my way, of course. I have chosen you above all others for that purpose."

"_Tonight_." Robin's eyes narrowed. "What do you want from me _now?_"

Slade sighed.

"Now, that _is_ a tricky question… one which I _doubt_ you will like the answer to."

"Try me."

Slade leaned down into him.

"I think you already _know_ what I want from you, Robin."

"Afraid not," Robin replied coldly.

"Oh." Slade looked up at the dark, cog-adorned ceiling. "Well. That's a pity… _that's a pity indeed_…"

Robin's knees were beginning to ache. He was tired. He was hungry. And he was still broken inside, still seething, still bruised by that blackmail.

"Just tell me what you _want_," he said dejectedly.

Slade leaned back again lazily.

"I want what you _have_, dear apprentice. What you _are_. I want your body… _I want **you**, Robin_…"

Robin was on his feet in seconds, backing away.

"_Never!_ I would _never_… how could you _even_ think that I would… that I would…!"

"You protest a little _too_ much, if you don't mind me saying," Slade murmured in reply.

"You never… you never _said_ that… that you…"

Robin could feel tears coming to his eyes in his horror. He turned, searching for the door, and Slade suddenly leapt from his seat and grabbed the boy's wrist. Whipping back around, Robin began to struggle in his grip. He squirmed and clawed and kicked as Slade easily lifted him and threw him into the chair. He banged his head against the back and slumped in it, fighting to maintain consciousness.

Slade pinned his wrists to the arms of the chair, one knee on the base of the chair between Robin's thighs. His masked face was practically touching Robin's, and the boy started as he lifted his head and his eyes met with Slade's single one.

He immediately began to struggle again, his fingers hooking, scrabbling at the arms of the chair, trying to pull away. But he was trapped between Slade and Slade's chair, both of them far too robust to be beaten through.

"Have you changed your mind yet?" Slade whispered.

"No!" Robin wailed, still fighting. "I won't, _I won't!_" He calmed a little, looking defiantly at Slade. "You can't _make_ me!"

Slade's eye glittered.

"I _can_, actually." He smirked beneath his mask. "But I won't need to." Releasing one of the boy's wrists, he held the trigger up again, centimetres from the tip of Robin's nose. "…Not when I have _this_."

Robin's wide, frightened masked eyes looked from the trigger to Slade and then back again several times over.

"_You can't_…"

"I can, I will, and you know it."

Robin looked him right in the eye.

"_Fuck you_," he whispered insolently, turning away.

"Fuck you?" Slade repeated softly, his accentuation different. He smiled at his apprentice, although the boy could not see it through his mask. "Rest assured that I _will_."

Again Robin began to struggle fruitlessly and Slade pulled him from the chair and threw him to the floor some way away.

"This wasn't part of the deal," Robin said desperately as Slade advanced upon him. "You never said that you wanted _this_ from me…"

"Were you in any position to refuse even if I _had?_"

"No, _but_…"

He gasped and lay back, rigid with fright, as Slade leaned over him. Straddling him, his knees on either side of his slim hips, Slade carefully unbuckled Robin's belt.

"_Please_, Slade," Robin begged, frightened out of his mind as Slade began to draw down the zip of his pants. "_It wasn't part of the deal_…"

"That damn small print, huh?" Slade sounded amused with his own quip. "Nobody ever reads it… _until it's too late_."

Robin whimpered and began to writhe beneath Slade once again, trying to struggle loose…

Slade held the trigger above him and Robin froze.

"Lie still, don't struggle, or your friends will not live to see the sun rise," he hissed. He ran his finger down the side of his apprentice's pale face. "Poor Robin. You agreed to do this to save your friends, but by swearing to _serve_ me, you did not realise _what_ you were agreeing to…"

Robin closed his eyes, fighting the tears.

"And Robin…"

The cold smooth metal of Slade's mask touched Robin's nose and he dared to open his eyes a little.

"…From now on, I'd like you to call me "Master"…"

* * *

Woo! It's exactly 02:09am Monday morning (right now, at the time I am writing this) and I am supposed to be in bed and if anyone comes downstairs and catches me writing RobinSlade slash (if you would even call it that...)at this time of night… uh, _morning_, they'll have my ass! - Yay! It's Halloween! My fav international holiday thingie! And I have a Batgirl costume I got off eBay! ;) (Ok, guess I'll just go back to rocking in the corner of the room while everyone ignores me…)

And… now it is 02:14am. Guess there's not very much to say… I think this one is better than _Ultimately_, which is really crummy, I have to say. It's like, 10 lines long… which might be a mercy, I suppose… hope all the RobinSlade-slashy-people liked it ok, as well as the regular _TT_ fans (I am not sure what to class myself anymore… _ho hum_…) and those of you just passing through.

My playlist is now playing Elvis Presley. Is anyone else lonesome tonight, or is it just the King?…

To Quinn and his Quill (yes, I know you're reading this, you little author-alert-stalker!); shocked yet? -

And to AutumnDynasty (also reading this, I guarantee…); reckon it's working?…

02:21am… guess I should go to bed…


	2. The Second Lesson

Originally _Small Print_ was a one-shot. It was, however, received better than I had anticipated, and I actually had a request from one _Rocky Wolf_ to write more. At first I wasn't going to bother, but then I got thinking and came up with something really cruel and thought; "Hey, why not?". I mean, I'm not going to turn this into a big long story because there's no story to _tell_. This is basically just another cliché _Apprentice_ rewrite; the typical "Slade's-behind-the-scenes-sex-lair". I'm not the first to have done it, and I certainly won't be the last.

So I'm not going to bore you with it.

_Asylum_, on the other hand…

So, anyway, here's an additional scene, most certainly never conceived and animated by _Warner Bros. Animation_ (although maybe they joked about it during their lunch break in the MacDonald's around the corner…).

If you think I'm really pushing it, tell me to stop and I won't write any more (I'll run out of ideas soon anyway…).

Likewise, if you think it has potential and have any brainchilds… brain**_children?_**... Oh, you know what I mean. If you have any suggestions, I would be very grateful to hear them. I'm a newbie at this RobinSlade lark… (Literally a week yesterday… -) I guess I'm kind of getting into writing it, although this isn't exactly… well, _slash_. And this chapter is quite graphic. I _have_ warned you, and it's an "M" rated for a reason, so don't report me. I hope you all "like" it…

And here's hoping nothing screws up this time; last time there was a line that didn't make any sense which I didn't type. It must have happened when I uploaded it.

To Phoenix Skyborne, Yami no Kaiba, and especially Rocky Wolf.

Quinn… just _don't_ read it…

Small Print - The Second Lesson

It was the early hours of the morning when Robin finally staggered back to his "room", now feeling grateful for the dark, confined space, the multiple locks on the door.

He collapsed onto his "bed", blinking back the tears. Slade slammed the door shut and locked it up again.

He had finished with him for tonight and had put him back into his cage.

_For_ _tonight_.

Robin curled up on the floor and pulled a blanket over his head. He was in agony, feeling as though his insides had been torn by the rough contact. He was bruised from where Slade had beaten him, touched him, grasped hold of him to stop his struggles. He was soaked in sweat; his ebony hair was a mess of tangles.

He had sobbed a little as Slade had done it, and his master had punished him for it.

For showing signs of weakness.

Of pain.

Of fright.

The bruises were not visible yet. But he could feel them, seeming to spread like a liquid ache beneath his skin. Little marks of tenderness that made him gasp when he applied pressure to them.

His entire body felt so dirty and used. He wanted to take a shower but there was nothing in here; no water even to wash the tears from his face. He still wasn't properly dressed; Slade had dragged him back here before he had finished covering himself back up again. His fly was still unzipped, unbuttoned; his belt still unbuckled. His mask was crooked on his sweaty face and he adjusted it now with shaking fingers.

This was partly what Slade had wanted him for. He hadn't realized that when he had agreed to be his apprentice; but then, as Slade had rightfully said, even if he _had_, Robin still wouldn't have been in a position to refuse. He knew that Slade wanted to teach him to fight; that he didn't doubt.

But he wasn't sure what _else_ Slade was trying to teach him.

He was Slade's apprentice; that was bad enough in itself.

He was also Slade's…

…his…

…goddamned _whore_…

Which was something he had absolutely no interest in being.

He had struggled and whimpered and gasped and cried. Slade had punished him for it; he had the bruises to prove it.

He had threatened him too. Taunted him with that control. His thumb touching the trigger.

And Robin had cried still, but kept his sobs silent. Kept his struggling to a minimum.

While Slade had "taught" him.

All for his friends; suffering on their behalf.

_All for them._

* * *

The day passed, drifting into darkness. The training had begun that day, and Robin ached and bled for it. Slade was a ruthless and cruel teacher, offering too little praise, far too much criticism. When his apprentice got something wrong he would punish him for it. When he got it right, he barely acknowledged it. When the boy retreated, attempting to get his breath back, he would lay into him harder than ever.

Nothing pleased him.

Or so the boy thought.

Last night had not been mentioned; as though it had never happened.

Curled up on the floor, huddled into the nest of blankets he had made for himself, Robin slept fitfully.

His lip was split, still bleeding a little.

Beneath his black and bronze leather uniform, bruises, already blue, decorated his pale skin like flowers.

His hair, matted with sweat, fell all across his face where the gel from two days previous was wearing off.

Slade had promised him a shower tomorrow, although Robin felt that it was little to be thankful for. He had given him precious little to eat; he had, however, allowed him his fill of water. He had even let him take a bottle of it into the room with him when he had locked him up for the night.

So _kind_ of him.

Once again his weapons had been taken from him, to stop him from escaping.

Or perhaps to stop him from killing himself.

Either way, Robin slept now. Resting. Healing.

If not for very long.

He jerked awake as he heard the multiple bolts clicking, sliding back. Slade swept in again and Robin tensed, still curled up.

Pretending he was still sleeping.

"You aren't asleep," Slade whispered dangerously. "You have until _three_ to get to your feet."

Quivering, Robin disentangled himself from his blankets and stood. In just 24 hours, his defiant demeanor had changed. Now he not only regarded Slade with a fighter's wariness; he regarded him with a victim's fear. His physical appearance was terrible; bruised, bloody, sweaty. His usually sharp, shining jet hair was limp and messy; his face was pale and drawn.

But the worst was the thing not visible. The fear in his blue eyes, hidden by his mask. The knowledge of what was to come. The terror of what would happen to his friends if he didn't obey.

He now really was no more than a caged little songbird. Broken. Destroyed by captivity; by cruelty and abuse.

Slade approached him and Robin backed against the wall, stifling his gasp of fear.

Afraid that it would earn him another beating.

"You cower from me, boy." Slade sounded almost amused. "You fear me. You are afraid of your _master_."

"Not again," Robin pleaded softly, shrinking back from him still. "_Please… Please, not again_… not after last night, _please_…"

He couldn't stifle his gasp this time as Slade pinned him to the wall; he went rigid in his master's grip, barely daring to breathe.

"_Don't grovel_," Slade hissed, sounding disgusted. "You're coming with me. I want to teach you something else. I don't feel that we covered everything today."

He released him and made for the door.

"You're… you're not going to…?" Robin didn't finish, instead gazing after Slade, still backed against the wall.

Not turning around, Slade stopped. He put the trigger behind his back, allowing Robin to see it.

"If I _was_," he replied softly, his voice malicious, "would it be _your_ place to refuse me?"

"I…"

"Come."

Sick with fear, Robin went to him and followed him down the corridor, his head bowed.

Main room. Gears. He looked up at them as he entered. He didn't understand Slade's obsession with gears.

He didn't understand _Slade_.

All he knew was that he hated him with every fiber of his body. Every single tiny cell, every nerve ending, every blood vessel screamed for blood and vengeance.

But while Slade had that control, there was nothing he could do.

Trembling, Robin watched as Slade went to his chair again, the way he had the previous night. And in the same way as the night before, he summoned his apprentice to him, forced him to kneel at his feet.

"I am not going to hurt you tonight, Robin," Slade told him quietly, watching the boy shaking, his shoulders hunched and his dark head bowed.

Robin looked up at him.

He didn't answer.

"No, I am going to teach you something," Slade went on, more to himself. He crossed one leg over the other, hooking his foot underneath Robin's chin and tilting his head back. "Something which you must learn if you are to stay here with me…"

Robin shook his head free but Slade didn't protest, although he smiled in amusement behind his mask.

"It'll be easier if we stay like this," he mused grimly. "I'll sit here; you stay on your knees. Come closer, though, and straighten up."

Robin obeyed, shaking like a leaf. But then Slade parted his legs and began to unbuckle his belt.

Robin realized what it was that Slade wanted to "teach" him and was almost sick straight onto the floor. He leapt back with the intent of bolting for the door, and Slade snatched at him and grasped him by the throat.

"_Don't be foolish, boy_," he spat, holding up the trigger. He left off Robin's neck, moving his grip to the boy's wrists, holding them both together in one large, strong hand.

Robin squirmed and pulled, starting to cry.

"_Please don't make me_," he begged tearfully, terrified. "_Please_… Anything but that! _Anything!_"

"Stop crying."

Apart from that order, Slade pretty much ignored him, holding his squirming apprentice with one hand, unzipping himself with the other.

"…_I'll do anything_," Robin pleaded desperately.

"You're going to do _this_."

"I _can't_…"

"You _can_ and you _will_, or your _friends_ will be the ones that suffer for it."

Robin bowed his head, his wrists still in Slade's grip, and sobbed in despair.

"Ready?"

Robin shook his head violently but Slade ignored that too. His hand moved to the back of Robin's head and he tried to push him between his thighs, but Robin resisted and began to struggle animalistically, flailing and clawing wildly. He broke Slade's grip and fled, darting for the door.

_Locked_.

Panicking, frightened, Robin whirled, his wide eyes searching for another escape route.

"Robin."

Feeling safer now that he was so far from him, Robin looked across the room at his master. Slade was merely sitting in his chair, his legs crossed again. Unzipped, unbuckled; _waiting_.

As Robin opened his mouth to fire back, Slade thumbed at the giant screens on the walls behind him.

Four anatomical charts, one each for Cyborg, Starfire, Beast Boy and Raven. And the human-shaped figures were slowly filling with red; the graphs were soaring…

The probes were attacking them.

Killing them from the inside out.

"NO!"

Darting again, Robin reached the charts, looking up at them in utter despair. He clawed at Starfire's, turned to Cyborg's, tears streaming freely again…

"STOP!" He screamed, whipping around to face Slade. Or rather, the back of his chair.

"Do as you're told, then," Slade's voice replied softly.

Robin looked at the screens.

He thought of what Slade wanted him to do and his stomach heaved.

He looked at the screens again.

"Alright," he whispered brokenly. "Just _stop_…"

The red faded from the screens and the charts went back to normal.

"Come here, Robin."

His entire body feeling as though it was made of lead, Robin went back to Slade's chair.

"Kneel."

Blazing, Robin obeyed. He was more angry now than terrified.

But scared all the same.

Still, he ran his tongue over his teeth. Strong; _sharp_, some of them.

Slade was going to be _very_ sorry.

Speaking of, he parted his thighs again. Instinctively, Robin shrank back, and Slade held up the trigger.

"Let's see what you can do, boy," he whispered.

Scowling, Robin got ready to bite him-

"Oh, and Robin?"

Slade thrust the trigger in front of Robin's face, centimeters from his open mouth.

"Need I remind you of what will happen if you got it into your head to… oh, I don't know… _bite_ me, or something…?"

Robin's blood ran cold and he looked up at Slade.

His gray eye was glittering maliciously.

"_You're a bastard_," Robin whispered, meaning every letter.

"I'd tell you to shut up, you little cock-sucker," Slade replied mirthfully. "But that wouldn't be my style, now would it?"

"I _hate_ you." Tears came to Robin's eyes again as he hissed it.

"You think _I_ like _you?_" Slade snorted with laughter.

"Then _why_ do you want me to-"

"You're here," Slade interrupted softly. "You've sworn to obey my every command in fear of your friends' lives. Why not take advantage of you?"

Robin opened his mouth to protest, to bite out his opinion, and Slade forced him onto him. Robin immediately gagged, almost choking. He struggled, but Slade held him there, one hand behind his head; his dug his fingers into Slade's knees, but his master didn't seem too perplexed by it.

"Now do it properly," he whispered, caressing Robin's dark messy hair with his splayed fingers. "Nice and slow. Use your tongue. _Good boy_…"

Shuddering, on his knees, his head held cruelly between Slade's thighs, Robin battled with the urge to be sick. He could barely breathe, he was near-choking, it tasted terrible and even all that aside…

He was…

…_sucking on_ _Slade_…

He almost _was_ sick as the thought came into perspective. More than anything he wanted to bite down on him, cause him the unbearable, excruciating pain he knew it would.

But he didn't.

Slade shifted in his seat, moaning ever so slightly. His hand was still holding Robin's head, but moving in a slow, soft circle, caressing his hair and the back of his neck. Twisting his apprentice's head to the side a little, altering his position. Forcing more of himself into the boy's mouth.

Thrusting it back.

_Deep throat_.

Robin really _was_ choking now, his gag reflex kicking in as Slade slid halfway down his throat. He moved his head, struggling, and Slade seemed to enjoy it.

Praising him.

"_Good boy… that's nice_…"

Robin's vision was beginning to black slightly and he knew he really was suffocating. And the sick taste in his mouth that was growing stronger only told him what he was dreading.

That Slade was eventually – inevitably, and unavoidably – going to come, and when he did, it would be right into Robin's mouth.

So he struggled, choking, tears streaming down his sweaty face, held cruelly between his master's legs.

And Slade seemed to realize what he was doing.

"Does the prospect upset you that much, Robin?" He whispered softly, the malice and amusement laced within his voice strongly accentuated. He gripped his hair cruelly. "Well, you'd better brace yourself, because I'll expect you to swallow."

Robin closed his eyes, squeezing them tight, trying to think of his friends; the reason he was doing this.

_For them._

Slade made a sudden sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, barely audible.

And Robin found himself with an explosion of hot sticky…

His mouth was full of it; too much, so that he lost some, dribbling down his chin…

He held it there in his mouth as Slade withdrew. He was going to be sick, he knew it-

"Don't even _think_ about spitting it out," Slade whispered, leaning down into him. "Swallow it, there's a good boy…"

He held up the trigger to justify his threat and Robin hung his head.

Shuddering, his stomach heaving, he swallowed.

"Excellent."

Slade made himself decent again and stood.

"Good," he murmured. "Not perfect, but you'll learn to be better with practice…"

Robin looked up at him, wiping his chin, his masked eyes frightened and wounded.

Defeated.

Taking his wrist, Slade hauled him to his feet and dragged him back to his room. He threw him in and slammed the door.

But then, as Robin curled up on the cold floor, the door opened again and Slade leaned in.

"Oh, and Robin?" He laughed a little, the sound echoing around the barren walls of the tiny room. "When I unleashed the probes on your friends?…"

Robin looked up at him again.

"I was bluffing." The smirk on his face was evident in his single gray eye. "It was only a system simulation."

The door slammed again and this time Robin heard the bolts being locked again.

Locking him once again back into his cage; like the captured songbird he was.

Rolling onto his hands and knees, he was violently sick onto the floor. The remains of his one meager meal that day, a lot of water, and a lot of…

…white sticky stuff…

He retched again but his stomach was empty. Reaching with a trembling hand for his water bottle, he drained most of it, washing away the taste; then threw the rest onto his face. He put one of his blankets over the pool of vomit to soak it up and got to his feet, shaking even now.

Willing himself to remember even now that he was doing this…

_For them_.

He didn't know how much more of this he could stand.

What else Slade was going to do to him.

He looked at the tiny window, the moonlight obscured by the bars.

Thought of them.

Thought of what he had gone through for them.

All to stop Slade from killing them.

Whether he was "bluffing" or not.

Collapsing in a quivering heap on his blankets, Robin burst into tears.

* * *

Ooh, angsty, angsty… - Actually, it's kind of interesting to do a behind-the-scenes _Apprentice_ thing. I mean, there was no given time-limit to that storyline. It seemed to take place within ten minutes or so, but it could have been over a few days; I mean, they can't, in all fairness, fit all that much into forty-something minutes' worth of animation, so I guess they had to condense it.

Which leaves it open for stuff like this.

Could be good. Could be really, _really_ bad…

And I suppose it was perhaps a little too graphic. It probably belongs on actually. But I'm not putting it on there. Why would I? _You_ guys are the ones that want to read this stuff (I hope) and I _have_ rated it "M", which is the highest rating.

Just hope this doesn't get me banned…

As for continuing, do any of you think it's worth it? I mean, I don't really want to turn this into an entire story, because it's basically just "What Slade did to Robin off-camera". Not much story potential there, really. I guess I could just make it into a series of little RobinSlade one-shot thingies.

If so, does _anyone_ have any ideas? I'm stuck now. I guess I could do something with the shower (mentioned near the start) but even if I _did_, I'm still running dry.

Anyone? Anything?…

To Phoenix Skyborne and Yami no Kaiba; I hope this meets your RobinSlade slash expectations.

To Rocky Wolf; thankyou for the encouragement, and I really hope this was to your liking.

To Quinn; I _told_ you _not_ to read it…


	3. For Them

Actually, we seem to be doing pretty ok here…- Considering it's nothing short of filthy and was originally a one-shot, it's actually kinda popular. I'm running out of ideas fast, though; however, I'm counting on ol' Narroch06 to come up with something… If anyone else has any ideas they might wish to bequeath upon me, I would be most grateful…

Ok, this isn't actually part of the… "story"… It's a _dream_; how I love my crazy dreams… And it's really short and all, so… Well, I thought I'd take some of what you're saying into consideration; Yami no Kaiba is, I guess, right in saying that Slade waving around his trigger like a kid with the new handheld Playstation is getting old fast, so the trigger doesn't feature at all here. Plus, Narroch06 suggested that I focus a bit more on the whole shattered-psyche thing instead of Slade's physical sexual abuse, so there's no "smut" here either. Well, no _actual_ smut… So let's, in Narroch06's words, call Robin "a mewling little ball of pain"; or rather, he _will_ be when he wakes up… _heh heh heh_

To Quinn; I _warned_ you. You didn't listen, but I _did_ warn you…

To Rocky Wolf; thanks once again for the encouragement, and I'll update _Asylum_ really, _really_ soon, I promise!

To Phoenix Skyborne; yes, Slade _is_ a bastard… And thanks for the Starfire-esque "hug"!

To Yami no Kaiba; um, just… _thanks_, generally. And you were right about the quote being wrong, but I couldn't remember it at like, one in the morning and I don't have any _TT_ DVDs because they don't sell them here in the damned UK, so I improvised…

To Narroch06; make with the ideas already!

And also to DStar504 and letfearruleyou; thanks for the reviews, even if this kind of thing doesn't exactly float your boat…

For Them 

_Freedom._

_It seemed to have a sudden sweetness. A sweetness that he had never appreciated before._

_He sat on a swing. A handmade one, hanging from a tree on Titans Island that he hadn't known was there. How he could have missed it was a mystery, but he was sure that it had never been there before._

_Next to him on the swing sat Starfire, her hip touching his. They were swinging back and forth gently, and she was singing to herself in a language that made no sense to him, plaiting a daisy chain with her long, slim fingers. She already wore a daisy crown around her brow, and another necklace threaded around her neck._

_The sun shone above and he could hear birds trilling. Dandelion seeds drifted on a non-existent breeze. The sky was an endless heaven of pure azure._

_Starfire finished her chain and slipped it carefully over his head, navigating it over his spikes of ebony hair. Her eyes shone as she looked at him and he smiled at her, the expression coming from deep within his soul. She leaned against him, the sun making her red hair shine, and they shared a kiss._

_A long sweet one, that didn't take him by surprise. Almost like he had been expecting it._

_But then she pulled away from him and he saw that she was frowning._

"_What?"_

_He reached for her covetously, wanting her slender, perfect form back in his arms; to feel the warmth of her golden skin against his own, the shape of her smile against his own lips, her smooth, faultless curves beneath his hands._

_But she shied from him, looking at him with sudden distaste, even though she had kissed him only seconds before._

"_What is it?" He asked again. Once more he reached for her, and she grabbed his wrist, stopping him from touching her._

"_Robin, this cannot go on," she said, looking at the ground. The swing slowly came to a halt._

"_What can't? I don't understand."_

"_**Us**," Starfire said, still not looking at him. "You and I, Robin. It is not that that I do not care for you anymore, it is just that… well, I feel that I cannot trust you anymore. There is much you have not told me."_

_He fidgeted with the daisy chain around his neck._

"_Like what?"_

"_Well…"_

_Starfire looked up at him, her green eyes meeting his masked blue ones._

"_There is much about you I do not know. You did not, for instance, inform me that you are a sucker of the cock."_

_Robin blinked._

"_What?"_

_Had she really said that? Or had he imagined it?_

"_Say that again," he said weakly._

_Starfire regarded him haughtily._

"_You failed to notify me that you are a sucker of the cock," she repeated sullenly._

_He watched her perfect lips form the words. He heard her sweet voice say it._

_But still he could not believe it._

"_I'm not," he replied shakily. "Starfire, please-"_

"_I knew that you would deny it!" Starfire interrupted him, leaping from the seat of the swing and whirling to face him. "But do not think you can lie to me, Robin! I will not believe you!"_

_Robin stood too and reached for her a third time. And once again she ducked out of range, so that his hands enclosed nothing but empty air._

"_Do not touch me!" She cried angrily. "Never again do I desire to be touched by you, Robin, nor to be kissed by you. Not now that I know what you have done!"_

"_But I didn't-"_

"_She's right, actually."_

_Robin turned to find Cyborg, Beast Boy and Raven all standing behind him; finding also that the wonderful, clear world was gone. Now they all stood in a void of darkness, the latter three in front of him, Starfire behind him with her arms folded, and he, the accused, in the middle._

_And his clothes too had changed. Gone was his red, yellow and green garb; in place of it was his apprentice uniform._

_An "S" on his chest._

"_Guess the truth comes out now, Robin, huh?" Cyborg accused dangerously, he too folding his arms. "Why you betrayed us, I mean."_

"_Why you went with Slade," Beast Boy added in a malicious whisper._

"_But we understand," Raven continued coldly. "Of course you'd rather suck Slade's cock than hang out with **us** losers. After all…"_

"…_You **are** obsessed with him," Starfire finished from behind him._

"_No, I…" He looked at them each in turn wildly. How could they believe such a thing of him? That he would go with Slade willingly? That he would **willingly**…_

"_I did it for **you!**" He burst out, near tears. "Don't you get it! He'll kill you if I don't do whatever he says!"_

"_Oh, right, because you're really suffering," Beast Boy snorted._

"_He's hurting you, Robin, is that it?" Cyborg crooned horribly. "He's raping you, forcing you to do things that you don't want to? He's made you into his little "bitch" because he's in a position to take advantage of you?"_

"_And you're doing these things, all for **us?**" Raven pulled down her hood and he saw her four eyes blazing crimson. "That's sweet. Too bad you're lying, huh?"_

"_You think I **want** this!" Robin shrieked, hysterical._

"_Of course you do," Starfire said from behind him. Turning to her, he found that her eyes too were glowing, but emerald instead of ruby, and she had only her one pair. "You say that you hate him, yet you think of only him. You spend your time searching for him, yet never come any closer to finding him. Do you crave to fight him, or do you merely crave for, during those fights, his touch? His nearness? The sound of his voice saying your name as he taunts you? Do you merely pretend that the sounds he utters during battle are not those of pain and discomfort, but rather are sired by your fantasies of pleasuring him instead? That he would moan at your touch?"_

"_How can you say that?" Robin whispered in dismay._

"_Because I know that it is true," Starfire retorted sniffily. Tears coming to her angry eyes now, she ran her hands down her body, over the enticing curves of her breasts and hips. "You could have had **me**, Robin!" She spat. "All of this which you have desired; that which has fired your teenaged-human-male imagination many times before, even to the extent where you have woken up with wet bedsheets. I have loved you since I first saw you, and I thought that you liked me in return. But if you would rather be Slade's whore, then why should I stand here and listen to your lies?"_

_Reaching out, she tore the daisy chain back from his neck, incinerating it with a starbolt._

_The four of them closed in on him and he backed away, suddenly frightened of them._

_Frightened by their obstinacy in disbelieving him._

"_I did it for you," he whispered, tears leaking from his eyes._

"_Sure you did, "Red X"," Cyborg replied nastily, cracking his alloy knuckles. "But moreover, you did it for **yourself**."_

"_I-"_

_Slade stepped from the shadows that were not truly there, his arms enclosing around the slight form of his apprentice. Stiffening, Robin did not dare to even move. His heart began to flutter violently, but it was not desire that did it to him; it was pure fear._

"_You Titans have gravely outstayed your welcome," Slade murmured, resting his chin on the crown of Robin's head. "My apprentice would like you to leave. I can see that your presence upsets him; and what upsets **him**, upsets **me**…"_

_The Teen Titans looked at one another, all shrugging simultaneously._

"_Sure," Cyborg muttered. "Guess you two have another sucking-off session, so who are we to intrude?…"_

_Rigid with fright in Slade's grip, Robin watched his friends all turn their backs on him and walk away, becoming enshrouded in darkness and vanishing._

"_Don't leave me!" He screamed after them, sobbing and struggling._

_Not even Starfire looked back._

"_They are a distraction to you," Slade murmured dangerously, lifting his chin from the boy's head._

"_Please don't hurt them," Robin begged, turning to his master._

_Slade traced one long finger along the shape of the "S" on Robin's chest._

"_I won't if you do whatever I ask of you," he replied softly. "I am a man of my word, as you know…"_

_He paused, then followed the shape again, and again and again…_

"_I do not, however, understand why you would still prize their welfare above your own," he continued airily. "After they have so cruelly shunned you, especially after all you have done for their sakes…"_

"_They're my friends," Robin whispered brokenly, looking at the floor. "I'm doing this for them."_

"_Indeed."_

_Slade gripped Robin's chin painfully, tilting the boy's head up._

_Meeting his frightened gaze with his own maliciously mirthful one._

"_Just remember, Robin," he whispered dangerously. "You're mine now."_

_He traced the "S" one last time, then leaned right into his apprentice, their masked faces practically touching._

"_All **mine**…"_

* * *

I am actually listening to Placebo's _Every You, Every Me_ at the moment; has anyone ever seen the _Teen Titans_ Robin/Slade music video by Yersi Fanel to this song? When I say Robin/Slade, I mean literally footage from the show of Robin and Slade, mostly from _Apprentice Pt II_, _Haunted_ and _The End Pt II_. The quality of the clips isn't too great at times but otherwise it's really good, I think… I have it on my laptop and I am _obsessed_ with it, although I have the song on CD too, so…

Um, _anyway_… Just thought I'd bring it up, seeing as we're on a Robin/Slade topic here…

On the subject of which… Phoenix – if you're reading this – you haven't deserted me, have you? On _Asylum_, I mean. 'Cause I know you like all this Robin/Slade stuff and I just put on Ch.11 of _Asylum_, which has some… R/S "action" and I guess you haven't read it 'cos I sort of figured you'd have some kind of comment to make on it…

I mean, don't give up on it for _this!_ You don't have to review, but I don't want you to drop off on me… Still reading _Changes: Nine Months More_, BTW, and totally liking it! I'm almost finished (well, what you've written) so I'll leave you a review then…

Um, anyway, enough of my begging and plugging and all…

Any ideas welcomed with open arms and a big flashing sign.

And _Asylum_ updated really soon, I promise…


	4. The Opposite Effect

Well, here we are again, and what a happy coincidence it is… I asked for help for this next chapter, and I certainly received it. Rocky Wolf gave me a great ending, and Narroch06… _well_… This entire next chapter (with the exception of the very first part) was an idea given to me confidentially via email by Narroch06 when I mentioned something about the shower, and here is the result. Created by Narroch06, and written by _moi_, RobinRocks. So if you don't like it, we'll _both_ be highly offended…

So, hope you all enjoy it (particularly Narroch06; this one's for you, baby!) and hope this doesn't disgust you all too much… (But who am I kidding here?…)

Quinn; you're a witch-hunter. And really, _really_ don't read this, for your own sanity!

AutumnDynasty; there's more than sucking in here…

Letfearruleyou; I have to say that between this and _The Thing_ I appear to have scared you off…

Phoenix Skyborne; ah, Starfire! Where would we be without her? I mean, just who _would_ we laugh at? And glad to see you back on _Asylum_!

Help me; no, I can't tell you where to get the music video. I didn't find it myself; AutumnDynasty gave it to me on my memory stick.

Thief; never heard of that story and therefore I assure you that I stole nothing from it. It sounds interesting, though…

NightRobin, DStar504, Seductive Angel, Emmery and Dark Magician of Chaos; here's your update! And yeah, I love Placebo too; might work on a lemon thing (_possibly_…); and to all who are disgusted yet intrigued… aren't RobinSlade fics just _like_ that?…

Pleasedonth8me; Siân, you are _so_ busted… And stop threatening to kill me; how can you love Robin when you've never seen an episode of _TT_ in your _life?_ You probably don't even know which one Robin _is_…

Yami no Kaiba; if you're reading this, hope this partially makes up for the lack of detail in _Asylum_.

Rocky Wolf; just love ya! And thanks for the idea; I'll be using that too, I promise…

Narroch06; well, I think I've said it all.

This is for you.

The Opposite Effect

"Harder."

Wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead – pushing back his sticky fringe – Robin shifted, altering his position, and complied with his master's order.

"Put more power into it, boy! Thrust all of your weight behind it!"

Robin let out a low moan of exhaustion but again obeyed, not willingly to show he was on the verge of collapsing.

"Good. Now do it faster."

"I _can't_…" Robin gasped. "_I really can't_…"

"You had better _try_, or Jump City will be a few teenaged heroes short by this time tomorrow."

Robin alerted at that and rocked back a little, shifting his weight again; he wanted to scream with frustration. No matter what he did, it just wasn't good enough.

Not _hard_ enough.

Not _fast_ enough.

Slade could see his little apprentice was teetering dangerously close to passing out, and it only made him smile.

"You can do better, Robin," he whispered dangerously. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of what will happen if you continue to disappoint me so…"

He watched the boy attempt to straighten up, his expression determined; he lunged once more for the target Slade held lazily in one hand, aligning his entire lithe body behind the punch, twisting his wrist to give it extra momentum-

Slade darted to the side and neatly tripped him up; the boy was sent sprawling, his startled cry making Slade laugh softly in genuine amusement.

(Had you all going there with that opening, didn't I?… -)

"We'll finish for tonight," Slade said tartly, throwing the target carelessly to one side. "I don't think I can put up with you making such a fool of yourself for much longer…"

Robin made a half-annoyed, half-exasperated sound as he struggled to his feet, turning to face his master. He pushed his hair from his eyes again, annoyed with that too; the gel from… three, four days before? It all just seemed to have melted into one. Physical abuse, sexual abuse, mental abuse… He could barely draw a line between the three of them any more.

All he knew was that Slade was slowly driving him crazy.

Not crazy with _desire_ for him, as maybe he had hoped. No, just plain _crazy_.

Period.

_Anyway_, the gel in his hair had completely worn out from all that time before. It was sticky with sweat and, ok, grease. He hadn't showered in… what, four days? He was working out plenty, plus all that other "extracurricular" stuff with Slade, and then his dreams in which he thrashed and tossed and turned… He knew he didn't smell too great; he had never felt literally "dirty" in this way, but he felt it now. He had never craved a shower so badly in his entire life, but even now… he had a feeling that it wasn't _only_ his own sweat he wanted to wash away… Because he hadn't showered since that night – two nights ago now – Slade had so cruelly and painfully raped him. He knew he looked awful, even though he hadn't actually seen his reflection; he could almost _sense_ it.

And Slade could seem to sense his desperation; the pleading for the shower he had promised him the night before.

He smiled. Horribly. But Robin couldn't see it; not behind his mask.

"I suppose you've earned a shower, if not my respect," he drawled lazily.

Robin breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief, eagerly anticipating the feel of hot water on his bruised skin.

Of just locking the door, shutting Slade out, even just for ten minutes. The knowledge that he would have a few precious minutes to himself, to be allowed to think his own thoughts, to just be allowed to be with his own body and mind.

To be able to forget what he was slowly – inevitably – becoming.

Slade's goddamn apprentice.

His goddamn little _toy_.

* * *

Robin's first impression of the shower room as he flipped on the lights was to question himself for what purpose Slade had had it put in. It was huge, to start with, like the showers in a football team's changing room. Like a dozen people could fit in here easily. 

But there weren't twelve people here. There was only Slade, and now…

…_Me…_

Still, more space for him. It was utterly dry, as though it hadn't been used in years.

_Ever_, in fact.

He moved around first, still fully clothed, exploring, testing the gauges to see how they worked. He changed all the temperatures to be the same, then adjusted all the shower heads so that they were all at different angles.

So that they would all spray to one central point.

There were plenty of mirrors here too. All full length ones, floor to ceiling, and there were about eight of them scattered around the walls. He caught several glimpses of himself and was appalled at how dreadful he looked.

Still, nothing that couldn't be fixed…

He quickly pulled off his sweaty, torn uniform, peeling it from his sticky skin, averting his eyes from the dark bruises now painfully visible on his entire pale body. His arms and legs, his chest and stomach and back and neck…

It wasn't the beatings that hurt the most. It was the fact that Slade seemed to take such pleasure in degrading him, humiliating him by taking advantage of him…

Knowing he was in no position to refuse.

Shivering, Robin hesitated, his hand at the waistband of his shorts. He was a naturally paranoid person, and his eyes darted around now for any signs of Slade.

Nothing.

Of course.

The room was wide and empty but for the showers and the little shelves with soap and shampoo and shower gel. The door was locked; he had already checked it twice. Distracted, he crossed to it and checked it a third time, smiling a little as it jammed when he tried to open it.

Definitely locked.

Feeling much safer, he slipped out of his black shorts and threw them with the rest of his discarded black and amber uniform; a;; he wore now was his mask, which even now he wouldn't remove. He started up the showers and stood where the jets met, being drenched in deliciously hot water from all directions. It was utterly wonderful, and for those few minutes he forgot everything, helping himself to a bottle of shampoo made with coconut oil extract especially for dark hair; apparently it gave it extra shine. He took a liking to some peppermint shower gel and helped himself to that as well. He actually felt _happy_; women had their retail therapy – Starfire was prone to buying hair accessories if she was feeling down.

_This_ wasn't _retail_ therapy; _this_ was-

He turned and found himself face to face with Slade.

Fully dressed, half-obscured by the rising steam, and utterly drenched.

Robin gasped, and it caught in his throat.

Like Snow White with her bite of enchanted apple. He too felt as though he was choking on nothing…

His masked eyes wide, he stepped backwards away from his wet master. His mind had been robbed of its vocabulary once again and all he could do was shrink against the wall as Slade began to slowly close in on him, the water still raining down on them both.

"What are you doing in here?" Robin asked him eventually, his voice so strangled Slade might as well have had him by the throat.

Slade shrugged.

"I guess you could call it wildlife spotting," he quipped flatly. "Observing creatures in their natural habitat. Or, as it were, in _this_ case, observing a creature in its most natural form. Unclothed, and unsuspecting."

He ran his gaze over Robin's wet, naked, shivering body. There was definite… _interest_ present within his single gray eye; and something else as well, an expression that Robin couldn't place.

Not that he wanted to.

"Where is it?" He demanded, attempting to shift his position so that Slade couldn't see so much of him.

"Hmm?" Slade looked up, nonplussed, and with a flush of angry embarrassment Robin realized that his master had been looking at his…

"The trigger," Robin replied petulantly. "That's what you're here for, isn't it? To threaten me? To have your way with me?"

Slade laughed softly, water dripping from his mask in bucketfuls.

"Dear Robin, so paranoid about _everything_…"

He laughed again and Robin turned away, facing the wall, near tears.

"_Get out_," he said, his voice cracking. "_Stop doing this to me_…"

"Hmm?"

This time the enquiring sound was extremely threatening but Robin wouldn't look at him.

"Do your worst," he whispered. "Do whatever it is you came here to do to me. And then _leave_ so I can finish having my shower in peace."

"That's a very disrespectful tone you're taking with me, Robin," Slade murmured dangerously. "And actually, I don't have the trigger with me. It would short out if I got it wet."

He moved right behind the boy and enclosed his hands around his slim shoulders. Robin bowed his head, quivering, struggling to cover his sobs.

"What do you _want!_" He burst out, exasperated. "Why are you playing these games with me? If you want to fuck me, then fuck me and be _done_ with it already…"

"If I wanted that, I'd have done it by now," Slade assured him dryly. He drew his hands down Robin's wet, slippery back and physically felt him go rigid with disgust and fright in his grip.

"No, I wish to _teach_ you something," he went on, his voice soft, attempting to lull the boy into a false sense of security.

_The last time you "taught" me something I ended up swallowing your semen…_

Slade felt the Boy Wonder shudder in his strong grip.

"How did you get in?" Robin whispered brokenly. "I locked the door."

"There is more than one way in, you know."

_Not into my head, there isn't,_ Robin thought fiercely. _You're never going to have your way, Slade. I'll never become what you want me to be; your apprentice, or your lover. **Never**._

"No, what I wish to teach you tonight is a lesson about _yourself_," Slade went on smoothly.

"I don't want to learn it."

Slade laughed, his grip on his small apprentice tightening.

"I didn't _ask_ you what you _wanted_," he said maliciously, whipping the former Teen Titan around. He threw him up against the wall and Robin banged his head against the wet tiles. His vision blacked and he awoke seconds later, flat out on the floor. The showers all still poured down that hot steamy rain and he sat up, shaking his aching head.

A sudden, delicious feeling shuddered through him, and he pinpointed its exact location within seconds.

Slade was sitting cross-legged beyond where he was sprawled out, his head in one hand, looking bored.

His other hand was lightly stroking the inside of Robin's right thigh.

Robin barely stifled his shriek of horror and anger and attempted to dart away; Slade reached out and grabbed hold of him, clutching at his small wet body as he tried to slither from his grip. He pulled him to him, laying him across his lap, holding him tightly to quell his struggles.

"This is your lesson," Slade whispered as Robin wriggled wetly in his arms. "You must stay still if you are to learn anything…"

"_I don't **want** to learn anything!_" Robin screeched, scratching at him like a frantic cat.

"But this a _special_ lesson," Slade murmured, sounding highly amused even as his apprentice tried to claw his only remaining eye out. "_One on one_…"

"NO!" Robin screamed, his enchanted Snow White piece of apple becoming stuck in his throat again.

"Dear boy…" Slade sounded as though he was on the verge of laughing again. "Whatever makes you think you have a _choice?_…"

He wriggled one large, wet, gloved hand between Robin's legs and began to rhythmically stroke his boyhood, trailing his fingertips gently along the length of it; coaxing it, encouraging it to grow and harden at his delicate touch. Gradually Robin's struggles became less so as pure nature overrode any sense he still clung to at this point. And Slade laughed softly to see him fall so helplessly, to be defeated by his very own body. He loosened his grip on the boy and Robin arched his back, still dripping wet, his ebony hair shining with its wetness as he shook it back now; his inner thighs were tauter now too, and he gasped and groaned at Slade's sensual touch.

Barely realizing what he was doing; what he was _allowing_ _Slade_ to do.

The water still pounded down around them, even as the master so duly pleasured his precious apprentice. It was beginning to grow cooler; but Robin was growing hotter and hotter. Slade's touch was getting harder, faster… and so was Robin's breathing as he neared his peak. He was wound so tight it was almost painful; his excited boyhood felt ready to explode…

But still Slade teased him. Beginning to wind down again, let his touch become less and less, until the sheer lack of it made every tiny feathery stroking sensation feel like a reason to scream the place down. But he didn't scream, afraid that Slade would hurt him – punish him – for it.

That he would stop altogether.

Instead he restricted himself to the moans he could not suppress anyway, especially now that Slade was just touching the end of it, the very tip – the most alive, sensitive part of it.

Running his thumb carefully over it as though it was the trigger; making the nerve endings scream.

And just as the boy became confident that he was about to make it…

Slade stopped. He got to his feet, dragging Robin with him. Holding him by his wrists in front of one of those mirrors.

Smiling as he listened to the sound of the boy's taxed breathing. His moans of frustration.

"Look at yourself, Robin," he whispered maliciously, nodding at their reflections in the steamy mirror. "Just _look_ at yourself, boy…"

Trying to calm his excited breathing, Robin looked up at his reflection.

He was almost sick as he saw himself.

His cheeks were flushed pink with excitement; he was wet and naked and bruised all over, and…

_Ohmygod_…

He saw his arousal now, somehow bigger than it had ever been before, and it was that way because of _Slade's touch…_

"Do you still believe that you don't belong with me?" Slade purred, his voice so low that Robin could barely hear him.

Slade wasn't amused when the boy burst into tears yet _again_, but he was becoming so hysterical it was practically impossible to get through to him, to calm him down.

"Why do you cry?" He whispered in his ear. "Because you've finally realized what I've been trying to teach these past few days is _true?_"

"_It isn't!_" Robin sobbed. He tried to pull his wrists from Slade's strong grip, but Slade wouldn't release him. "I don't want this, Slade…"

"I don't _care_ what _you_ want," Slade replied curtly. "I told you that it's always been about you, but let me assure that just because I want you for your body – for _myself_ – it doesn't mean I care remotely about your _feelings_. I don't _love_ you, dear boy. _Not at all_."

"Now…" He took his hands from the boy's wrists and made a triangle from them, laying the flats of his gloved palms against Robin's equally-flat stomach. His fingertips were not even two inches from the beginning of Robin's still-excited boyhood.

"…Shall I remedy this little problem for you?" He crooned, his tone slightly sarcastic.

Robin looked at his frightened reflection, equally rigid and highly-aroused as _he_ was. He felt Slade stroke the nape of his neck and he felt an almost-painful twinge in his crotch.

As Slade had said, it wasn't like he had a _choice_ anyway…

"Yes."

He watched the other Robin's mouth form that one traitorous word. _Why_ did it feel as though he had just signed his own death warrant?…

* * *

The echo of his final cry as he had come still echoed around the shower room long after it was over; Robin lay in a quivering heap on the wet floor, near-unconscious, the showers all still running, pouring down and draining around him.

Slade stood over him, watching him.

"You did well," he murmured eventually. "You are responding to all of the training far more quickly than I had anticipated."

Robin made a tiny moaning sound in response, shifting slightly in his wet, curled-up state.

"So we will be able to progress more quickly," Slade went on softly. "You will come to me later tonight – to my quarters – and you will come with a _willing_ spirit. Do you understand me, boy?"

Robin moaned a yes and curled up tighter.

"Don't just lie there, wretched boy!" Slade snapped. "Get dressed. I brought you a clean uniform."

Robin sat up, shaking uncontrollably.

Seemingly satisfied, Slade turned on his heel and made for the door, leaving a trail of water after him.

"I want nothing of yours," Robin said after him, his voice suddenly cold.

As he began to realize what he had done.

Slade stopped.

Laughed.

"Robin," he sighed, beginning to leave once again, "I didn't _ask_ you what you _wanted_…"

The door slammed shut and Robin simply sat there still, letting the water slowly grow cold around him.

* * *

Ok, how am I doing here? Still a bit rough on this RobinSlade thing, I must admit… 

Narroch06, thankyou once again for like, the _millionth_ time for your idea, and for your help! I only hope this did your plot bunny justice! Don't forget to review, because I really, _really_, REALLY want to know what you thought of it! Only thing I left out was Robin thinking about the dream, but that's because I'm saving that for the next chapter. And Rocky Wolf gave me a good "ending", so I'll be using that too…

Ok, I've set myself up for some _real_ RobinSlade slash action now. I know "certain" people were upset with _Asylum_ for its crummy lack of detail, so hopefully this next chapter of _Small Print_ will make up for it.

Unfortunately… I'm procrastinating (I love that word! Go Mad Mod!) because I don't really have a clue what I'm doing. It's ok, I know what I _want_ to do, but… well, if anyone has any tips or hints or techniques on how to write this stuff, I would be very grateful to hear them before I attempt to write this next chapter. The last thing I want to do is turn out something really crappy, and I'm sure you don't want to _read_ anything crappy (unless you think _this_ is but then I don't see why you'd be reading this far if you thought it _was_…).

So, um, yeah… _Help Wanted_ sign going up now. Means I'll have to take down my _Santa, Stop Here!_ sign, but hey… And has anyone else ever noticed that "Santa" rearranged is "Satan"? Just thought I'd point that out… So, ideas, tips on writing RobinSlade stuff, and actually… before I do _anything_, will someone please tell me the level of explicit content allowed on this site? Just _one_ of you, really, because I need to know before I start writing. I know the site is kinda strict on this sort of stuff and I really don't want to get banned… Yami no Kaiba, Phoenix Skyborne; do either of you know?

Anyway, hope to hear from you all soon! _HELP!_

And Quinn… just… well, when _do_ you ever listen, witch-hunter?…

Narroch06 and Rocky Wolf; love ya forever! If you have any more ideas, let's hear them!


	5. Complex Interactions

Be afraid. BE. VERY. AFRAID. Because I have since gotten myself a partner-in-crime. Yes, as of now, _Small Print_ is being co-written by myself and Narroch06. My shameless begging to her for storylines has resulted in a partnership, and now we both proudly (I think?) present to you all chapter 5 of _Small Print_ under Narroch06's title of _Complex Interactions_. As the pilot chapter of our partnership (although chapter 4, _The Opposite Effect_, was a brainchild of Narrcoh06's as well) the co-writing part of it is slightly incoherent. In basic terms, we came up with it together via squealing emails, I wrote it initially, Narroch06 amended and added to it, and now I'm posting it for you all to read and enjoy. All following chapters will be completely co-written, but for now, simply enjoy the erotic tale we are about to unfold to you; and marvel at how Narroch06's wonderful metaphoric writing style magically flourishes my rather cut-and-dry one.

No-one complain about the content of this chapter. This fic is rated "M", and there is probably _worse_ on here. Anyone who whinges about it being too explicit (and it really _isn't_, you know) will be personally hunted down, hung, drawn, quartered and then _shot_ by Narroch06 and myself (well, _me_, anyway...).

I guess this is once again for Rocky Wolf, who begged me to continue this fic in the first place (and I'm SO glad you did…).

It's also especially for Phoenix Skyborne and Yami no Kaiba (who I _hope_ is still out there… Hey! Don't you love me anymore!), the RobinSlade people whom I greatly disappointed with my zoning-out in _Asylum_. I really, truly tried my best this time – pretty much full detail – and Narroch06 added to it. Hopefully you both especially will enjoy the result we now offer.

Quinn… I'm warning you. I'm REALLY warning you…

Complex Interactions

"_One day you'll let your guard down. I **will** get that control."_

"_That sounds like a threat, young man. Quite a good threat, actually…"_

Waiting.

Such an idle game of pursuit. And yet one that was amusing; at least to _him_.

He wasn't gifted with the virtue of patience; even now, his "amusement" was beginning to wear slightly thin. He had too much ambition for coddling anything that was worthless. But he could play with something all the same while it still interested him. Keep drawing on the walls until the ink ran out and the nib grated through the paint. But the boy had better deliver, or he would pay dearly for it.

With the blood of his friends.

Friends which, in time, he would grow to need less and less. Perhaps to the point where _he_ would be the one to destroy them.

How proud his master would be of him then.

_You will come to me tonight, Robin. You will come to me, and I will bequeath upon you pleasure unlike any other you have ever known. Pleasure which, of course, you will turn your nose up at; at first, that is. But you have learned well these past few days, and I am sure you will be quick to learn **this** lesson too. And it shall forever taint you, dear boy, because the self-disgust that will result from what I am going to do to you will near-destroy you. Eventually, in order to escape the torment, you will simply stop feeling._

_You will stop fighting._

_And when you have stopped fighting, you will succumb to me completely. You will become my apprentice truly and wholly._

_And **you** will be the one to push that button._

So he waited for his prey to come to him; like a lamb to the slaughter.

He waited.

And he smiled.

* * *

Robin sat up as he heard the lock – the _multiple_ locks – of his door suddenly becoming unlatched. He stiffened, expecting Slade to come sweeping into the tiny dark room, but when he heard nothing he cautiously got to his feet and moved like a shadow over to the door. It had swung open slightly all by itself… no, this was _Slade_ he was talking about here. 

Electronic locks. Another controller, most likely.

The gap was tiny and the door wouldn't budge any more, seeming to be jammed where it had stopped. Bracing himself against it, Robin squeezed through the gap between the door and the wall. If he was any bigger he wouldn't have gotten through.

_Which might have been a blessing…_

The corridor was dark and forbidding, long shadows seemingly cast from nothing. He shivered, but it wasn't his initial fear of the dark corridor, nor was it the biting coolness that now seemed to wash around him even more so than in his "room".

His fear was spawned from the knowledge of what lay at the _end_ of this corridor. What Slade was expecting from him.

Quite frankly, he didn't know if his acting skills stretched quite that far.

Looking down – squinting through the darkness – he found a square of folded paper on the floor just shy of his left foot. He crouched and picked it up, turning it over in his hands before unfolding it. He had to bring it right up close to his face to read it in the drab lighting – his nose was practically touching it – and when he finally deciphered the message he dropped it again in disgust, letting it flutter back to the cold floor.

_You've got ten minutes._

_If this time expires and you are not present in my quarters, I think you are aware of the consequences. Likewise, if you instead use this short period of freedom to fabricate a futile escape attempt…_

_I wouldn't want to be your friends._

_S._

He truly had him cornered on all sides. There was nothing he could attempt, because Slade already knew. Ironic, really, that he should be defeated by – more or less – a mind that matched his own.

Maybe that was why he hated Slade so. Because he knew how alike they really were.

Then again…

It could have been one of a whole lot of _other_ reasons…

He began walking, trying not to think about the time limit that was ticking away against his favor. Corridor after corridor, trying all the doors, banging on them, kicking them, calling his master's name… All the while precious grains of sand slipped through the tight neck of transition on the hourglass that held his friends' fates.

All locked. No answer.

Knowing he couldn't have more than a minute left, Robin began to panic. Again, though, the grim irony was apparent to him; that he was panicking because he _couldn't find Slade_…

He launched a roundhouse kick into a door situated alone in a corridor, more out of frustration than anything else. He was extremely taken aback when it slammed open with the force of his blow; so startled, in fact, that he forgot to follow the kick through properly, lost his balance and tumbled leather-clad legs over jet-maned head into the room, landing in a non-too-graceful heap.

He got to his hands and knees, raising his head. He assumed that he had made it; he was certainly in a bedroom. A four-poster queen-sized bed took up most of the space, elaborately designed with a carved headboard and lustrous scarlet sheets. Crimson hangings the matched the silk sheets which shimmered in the dull light of a single bedside lamp on the small pine table to the right of the bed. The whole set-up was purposely romantic-looking…

Robin shivered, his gaze darting around. No sign of Slade, but then-

"Now, was that _really_ necessary, Robin?"

Robin immediately rolled over, skittering away as he saw Slade standing behind the door. Slade, however, seemed more interested in the damage to the door than he did in his apprehensive apprentice.

"You'll be buffing that out tomorrow, boy," he said lazily, running a finger down the scrape-mark the metal heel of Robin's boot had left on the surface of the door. His gaze flickered down towards the boy and Robin meekly – obediently – bowed his head in a show of remorse.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry _what?_"

"I'm sorry, master."

"That's more like it." Slade removed his hand from the door and swung it shut behind him; Robin winced as he heard the lock automatically clicking.

Knowing that there was absolutely _no_ chance of escape now.

"I am pleased at how quickly you have learned your _place_," he went on, his voice a lazy drawl. "And you could have been more punctual, but you made it here within your ten minutes, so I find little fault to pick there too."

Robin dared to look up at him again. Slade actually sounded… _pleased_ with him…

Robin caught himself.

_No, do **not** go down that road; don't seek his attention or his praise. Do what you have to do for your friends, but don't let him break you…_

Besides, the light tone in his voice was probably because he was looking forward to what he was going to do to his little apprentice that night. He was pleased with _himself_; not Robin.

Slade crossed to him, hauling him to his feet by the scruff of his neck.

"Despite what you think of me, Robin," he whispered, pulling him right onto his toes to that their faces were nearly level, "tonight you will come into your own. You will revel in everything I am going to do to you. You will become enslaved by your own body…"

"Yeah…" Robin wriggled and twisted from his master's grip. "Can we just get this over with while I still have the energy and stamina to fake it?…"

"_Fake it?_" Slade's single gray eye widened, but Robin was unable to tell if the older man was mocking him or not. "Dear boy, tonight you will not be "faking" _anything_; of that much I will assure you. Whether or not it will _hurt_ is another matter entirely…"

Robin looked away, unable to suppress his shudder.

"Well, let's not rush into anything," Slade went on, ignoring him as he sailed past him.

"Where's the trigger?" Robin asked sharply, turning to watch him as he crossed to a handsome oak chest of drawers situated in the corner of the room.

"Where it always is, Robin. _With me_."

A silent sigh of irritation escaped through Robin's nostrils and he folded his arms, watching Slade sift lazily through one drawer after another, his back to him.

"Are you going to keep me standing here all night?" He bit out finally, becoming more and more agitated the more Slade ignored him.

Slade looked over his shoulder at him, and Robin could hear the amusement dripping in his voice;

"Eager, are we, my little bird?"

Robin's stance immediately became more defensive, his fists clenching and coming his sides.

"Eager for it to be _over_ with," he replied coldly, "so that I can get back to concocting a plan to _kill_ you."

Slade laughed slightly.

"I doubt that. However, in light of your impatience…"

He turned, a black velvet scarf in one hand. Robin immediately stepped backwards, one hand at his neck; he had a sudden fleeting mental image of Slade strangling him with it.

"You shy from me," Slade whispered, advancing on him. "Fear not, dear apprentice. As long as you obey my every word, I mean you or your friends no harm." He slipped behind the boy and Robin tensed. "Oh, come now," Slade purred, rubbing his stiff shoulders. "I am not going to hurt you if you give me no reason to. At least not _tonight_…"

He deftly slipped the velvet scarf over Robin's masked eyes, knotting it at the back of his head like a blindfold. Robin's hand directly went up to the binding material to try and prise it off, and met Slade's steel grip on his wrist instead.

"No peeking now," he murmured, squeezing the boy's thin wrist very hard. Robin bit his lip to stop himself from making a sound. Slade's grip slid off his wrist and moved back to his shoulders, fingers drumming on the metal neck-plate of his apprentice's uniform. He unclasped it and slipped the molded metal from the boy's slender throat, baring his neck. His fingers went to work again, massaging expertly, his touch firm and delicious. One or twice Robin squirmed as Slade hit a tender spot, and he burned for it. So they stood there in the dim room, master and apprentice, the former soothing the latter in a way that words could not; the training and the beatings from three days previous had tightened his abused muscles to the likeness of steel cables. But now Slade was taking all of that aching tightness and drawing it downwards to a position at the small of his back, melting it away as though it had simply never existed. Funny; the very man who had created those aches was now taking them away again, as though working magic upon Robin's lithe body.

Closing his eyes behind his velvet blindfold, he felt a dull pop as a few muscles gratefully loosened, releasing a bubble of lactic acid, and slipped back into place. Robin arched his back and moaned slightly as Slade pressed into the small of his back, draining the very last of the pain away. Milliseconds later he slapped his hands to his mouth, as though trying to cram the escaped moan back in. But it was too late; it capered around the silent room, triumphant and relishing its victory.

Slade laughed slightly, and it was not a pleasant sound.

"Did you like that?" His fingers dug into Robin's shoulders as he asked it; Robin simply nodded nervously, his leather-gloved hands still at his mouth.

"Would you like me to enchant your body some more?"

Robin simply nodded again, but this time Slade reached around him and tore his hands away from his mouth.

"Answer me properly, boy!"

"Yes," he mumbled softly.

"Yes _what?_"

"Yes, master."

"_Excellent_…" Slade ran his large hands down Robin's slight form, feeling every detail even during the fleeting sensation; Robin defiantly bit back the gasp it aroused within him.

Laughing again, Slade pulled off his mask and put it carefully to one side. Even blindfolded, Robin seemed to know what was happening, and immediately began to wrestle with the tight scarf bound around his eyes.

"No, Robin." Slade grasped the young boy's wrist again. "My true identity is not for _you_ to know…"

Robin made a desperate half-whining noise and Slade only smiled.

"I'll pretend that was a sound of intense impatient desire," he hissed. He began to attack Robin's neck from behind him, devouring it passionately, while the Boy Wonder squirmed in his grip.

However, he quickly grew bored of biting the boy's throat and turned him to face him, sinking into a crouch and drawing his hands down his apprentice's body as he did so. Robin suppressed his gasp there too, trying to fight the feeling that was overtaking him – the terrible feeling of desire that was conquering him – but then, when Slade's firm touch came into contact with his crotch-

He tried to snatch back his loud cry as it escaped his lips, but that too slipped beyond him, another real reminder of what he was doing. He staggered backwards a little and found himself backed against the wall, his leather-clad legs spread fairly apart. Slade closed in on him again, working his massage-magic again, only this time on an area that was infinitely more sensitive. Tears began to leak from Robin's closed eyes, blotting the mask and imprisoning blindfold with salty dampness; from both the mounting pain in his groin as his tight leather pants became increasingly – uncomfortably – cramped, and from the very _fact_ of the former. That _Slade_ was making him… _making him_…

He very nearly screamed as Slade began to firmly rub a particularly sensitive spot, but frantically clung to the traitorous sound before it could escape him. His boyhood ached and strained against the tight black leather restricting it, and matters were made a whole lot worse as Slade suddenly took his fingers from the area and instead began to devour it through his pants. Another moan got away from him and his hands went to his own ebony hair, wrenching at it in despair.

Betrayed so easily – so _willingly_ – by his own body.

Slade lifted his mouth from Robin's crotch, smiling at the slight bulge present there now. He ran his fingers over it again, impressed by the boy's restraint; he simply _would_ not let him have the pleasure of hearing him moan.

A challenge. To pleasure the boy to the extent that he would moan and shriek so freely he would not even realize he was doing it.

Pressing Robin up against the wall, Slade swiftly unbuckled the boy's belt and unzipped his pants, slipping them down to his knees. Needless to say, his black cotton boxers were doing little to restrain his already-desperate erection. Slade tore those down as well, sparingly licked the tip of it, then took his apprentice into his mouth before he had even realized that his pants were around his knees.

The gasping yell caught in Robin's throat, and for the third time in less than a few hours he felt as though he was choking on a bite of apple; one that he hadn't chewed, just bitten off and attempted to swallow. He writhed against the wall, letting himself moan now, not even caring that Slade could hear him. In fact, he even shouted his master's name in between gasps and cries and pleas. Slade's hands were running along the insides of his thighs and Robin hammered his fists against the wall behind him, moaning and sobbing in pure ecstasy.

Not even shame had any meaning in the face of _this_.

Slade was slightly disappointed at how easily his challenge had been met. Already the boy was shrieking like a banshee, begging for more.

Even so, Slade could be generous when he wanted to be. So he gave his little apprentice more – more than he _deserved_, perhaps – lifting him up under his thighs and pushing him against the wall at a different angle. Robin flailed and kicked and shrieked as though Slade had his hands around his neck instead.

Young and overrun with teenaged hormones, it seemed that his hatred for Slade simply hadn't been enough as every neuron in his body fired off in ecstasy, singing a mocking song of pleasurable betrayal as Robin came with a fantastic force. Slowly he slumped to the floor in a numb, quivering heap, eyes squeezed shut still behind the scarf. Slade spat his mouthful of sticky sweetness onto the floor; he might have forced Robin to swallow _his_, but when the roles were reversed… well, who was the _master_ here?

"We aren't done, boy," he snapped, reaching down and pulling the dazed Boy Wonder to his feet again. He tossed him disdainfully onto the crimson bed and retrieved his mask, putting it back on.

"_You_ have had _your_ gratification," he went on smoothly. "Now you shall be given more pleasure. I promise that this time it will not hurt nearly as much…"

He reached down loosened the knot at the back of Robin's head, sliding the scarf from his eyes. Robin blinked up at him, his masked eyes wide and frightened.

Yes, fear. And his pants around his knees, his jet black hair tousled, sweat glistening on his brow… It was simply too delicious to behold.

Slade quickly loosened everything; his belt, his gauntlets, neck-plate… everything but his mask was thrown to the floor.

Quickly regaining his composure, Robin began to squirm away across the crimson sheets, creasing them beneath his wriggling weight. Being wonderfully sucked off was one thing; there was no way he would willingly bow to _this_…

Slade wasn't interested in his squeals and pleas, instead grasping hold of him and dragging him squirming towards him. Robin scrabbled and scratched like a wild animal as Slade undressed him, slipping off his heavy boots and leather pants and shorts, then hauling off his tight black and bronze spandex top, gauntlets, gloves and all.

"Stop struggling," Slade spat, gripping the boy's slender shoulders. "You _want_ this, goddamn you. And no matter what you think, you're going to _enjoy_ it!"

He forced the struggling boy into a very awkward position; which, nevertheless, offered a good angle for deep penetration. Robin began to whimper, clawing at the red sheets in desperation.

_It's for them…_

One of Slade's long slender fingers touched Robin's entrance, his other hand holding his head and shoulders against the bed.

"Please don't," Robin begged tearfully. "It hurts so…"

"I never said it _didn't_."

_It's for them…_

Robin bit his lip as Slade's finger slipped up inside him, wincing as it was joined by a second. They stayed there for a second or two; then he withdrew them, but Robin could not sigh with relief.

He knew what was coming next.

_It's for them…_

Instead of slamming agonizingly into him the way he had the first time, Slade chose to enter him slowly this time. Maybe because he wanted to savor it more this time around, but either way, it hurt less.

It still hurt though. A red hot poker instead of a white hot stabbing knife. It wasn't long before Robin felt the streams of blood trickling down the backs of his thighs, but they were steadier this time. Slade still hadn't fully entered him yet; Robin bit his lip against the pain as he felt the older man push further and further into his considerably smaller body. Robin gasped as he finally hit home, then withdrew sharply, pushing back in, building a rhythm…

It hurt terribly at first, but then he got used to it and the pain became blurred with the almost pleasurable sensation of hot friction. He was becoming excited again himself, his breathing was getting heavier, more erratic… Slade's large hands were clasped across the boy's stomach, pressing into him, holding him beneath him.

And then Slade hit something; a cluster of nerve endings that created brand new shockwaves of pleasure so intense that it was almost indistinguishable from the tearing pain. The feeling shuddered throughout his entire slender body and he bucked his hips, moaning like a whore at Slade's every thrust. Slade lay back, pulling Robin with him so that the boy lay on top of him, still impaled by his flaming arousal; their hips moved in perfect rhythm, one of Slade's hands on Robin's utterly flat, taut stomach, the other in his raven hair. Robin's hands gripped at the crimson sheets, tugging at them with every thrust, gasps and moans escaping on his breath like a broken Morse code of eroticism.

Again – with little restraint to his name – Robin came first, screaming his master's name, arching against him, tears streaming down his face. Amused, and nearing his own peak, Slade knelt up, pushing Robin forwards slightly, and took hold of his right arm. He twisted it up behind his back, holding it there, near breaking point, while Robin shrieked and grunted in agony, feeling his resistance…

"Scream, boy," Slade whispered, thrusting into him several more times; Robin was on his master's lap, his legs spread, one arm twisted cruelly behind his back.

Robin moaned in response – a mixture of pleasure and utter torture.

"_Scream_," Slade hissed in his ear, twisting harder still.

Robin screamed in mostly a reflex action; in a natural response to almost having his arm snapped. But also… partly to please his master…

The complex interactions of agony and lust, loathing and wanting, struggle and surrender flickering through Robin's body was too much and Slade came at the tortured sound his apprentice made for him, shooting his seed deep into the boy's body. Robin threw his head back, groaning. Slade pushed him off and he collapsed on the covers, quivering all over again.

Breathing heavily, Slade pulled back the covers.

"Get in," he told his apprentice breathlessly. "Sleep. You have earned that much…"

Too exhausted to argue or protest, Robin writhed under the covers and closed his eyes. He felt Slade's warm, powerful presence slide in next to him, half-expecting to be enveloped in his grip.

But even after all that, Slade simply turned his back on him and went to sleep.

Robin didn't know what he had wanted. If Slade had tried to take him into his arms, he probably would have struggled and refused. But because he _hadn't_…

Robin rolled over too, so that his back faced Slade's. He didn't want to be here, naked underneath the same silk bedclothes as Slade. But at least it was comfortable…

Tears slid down his face and he pulled the covers over his head.

He was so ashamed of himself, and of his behavior. How could he have let Slade degrade him like that? _How_ could he have responded to it the way he had? He was so disgusted with himself it didn't seem possible.

But he could justify it, couldn't he?

_It was for them_. _I did it for them_.

_Not for him._

_Not for me._

_For **them**._

…_Didn't I?…_

* * *

…So now poor Robin feels really low and disgusted with himself… _plot device!_ And one that Narroch06 and I intend to use to its fullest capacity. You know, I'm not totally sure what's coming next. Expect something explosive, is all I can say. Because, as I said, all chapters from here on in are going to be completely co-written, and Narroch06 has informed me that she has a nasty little surprise in store that I'm gonna have write around… You know, I never realized how cool co-writing is. But it truly is a great technique, and one that I would never have attempted to try before. Everyone should try it, I reckon, because you can pool everything to get the very best story possible. Also, I would have to say that it probably works better with someone you don't actually know as a person, but only as another writer. I mean, Narroch06 lives out in the good ol' US of A; I live here in dismal Britain. Ah, the wonders of email… 

Just call us the Dynamic Duo!

Next chapter up as soon as Narroch06 and I get our butts in gear and put it together…

Hang tight, and hope you enjoyed our pilot co-written chapter!

Plugging time; new chapter of _Asylum_ up soon, and anyone as thoroughly impressed by Narroch06's metaphoric style as I am should certainly read her _Teen Titans_ one-shot _Abyss_. Lots of wonderful comparison to gold coins and deep holes in that…


	6. Justification

Oh, the _fun_ we're having with this… What started life as a one-shot has quickly flourished into something that Narroch06 and I are truly proud of (well, _I_ am…).

Well, I'm sure y'all remember that _last_ chapter. So here is the…_dadada_… AFTERMATH! Poor little Robin feeling all disgusted with himself and whatnot. This chapter is the first true collaboration of the writing of Narroch06 and I. Not telling which bits are mine and which are hers, because that would spoil the fun, but I think the result is pretty damn good. Although you'll probably be able to pick out Narroch06's beautiful metaphors and my snippy, sarcastic little Slade lines…

To Quinn: thanks for the new title – I am now, according to Quinn, RobinRocks, The Boy-love Wonder…

To Phoenix Skyborne (and Yami no Kaiba, if you're reading this); hope that last chapter made up for _Asylum_…

To Setsuna Mudo: argh! Busted! I read your _The Bird and His Cage_ and thought it was great, but I didn't review because I didn't want you to know I existed so that you couldn't read this and accuse me of swiping stuff from you. Ok, I know it was underhanded… Anything that is similar is, I assure you, a freaky coincidence. Somebody (called _Thief_, I think) who reviewed _Small Print_ a while ago said that it reminded them of your fic, so I read it and was like; "Ok, _weird_… they _are_ similar…" Guess there's not much you can do with an _Apprentice_ rewrite, huh?… Guess I can start reviewing you now; looking forward the next chapter!

To NightRobin; your fic _Scars_ is on the adult fanfiction site, isn'tit? I've seen it…

To Seductive Angel; just keep reading, baby… We got some more surprises in store…

To Crzy Grl; who, um… seems to have read everything I've written, including _The Thing_. You know, if you like my stuff, you should read Narroch06's stuff too, especially _Abyss_ (a _TT_ super-short, super-good one-shot). Still, glad you're enjoying _Small Print._

To Rocky Wolf; the pain-in-the-ass who made me continue! You're great, really. _The RockySlade Story_ is looking good!

And to all others who have read and/or reviewed (Narroch06, you don't count because you helped write it…); thankyou so much! We love you all, really and truly!

Do enjoy!

Justification

_What have I done?_

_WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveI**done**!_

_**What have I done!**_

Curled on his side – quivering beneath the crimson sheets swathed across his lithe body – Robin sobbed and sobbed, suppressing them to the best of his ability. A heavy stone lodged in his throat from his efforts at silence. His eyes burned behind his mask as he simply gazed into darkness, breathing the accumulating heat beneath the covers. The mattress beneath him was wet with his tears; tears that he simply could not stop. Despair is an emotion that cannot be ordered around.

As is fear.

He put his head in his hands as another broken sob of self-anguish welled up within him, his mind a movie reel that played those terrible scenes over and over again… Even now, he could hear his own moans, his screams…

"_Oh, yes! Slade… SLADE! Oh, yes, **yes**, YES!…"_

He could find no excuse within him for his behavior, no reason for his bodily reactions, no justification for his wanton cries and pleas.

In the aftermath of it, once the natural aphrodisiac had filtered out of his veins, and he could think clearly, all he knew was shame and despair.

Remembering how he had clutched and clung, his body shining with sweat in the dim light of the lamp, the thin crimson sheets sticking to him as he had arched against the more powerful body of his master…The ecstasy that had flooded his senses the instant Slade had taken his still-boyish jewel between his lips and beyond, working such magic upon it unlike anything Robin had ever known… That beautiful feeling that had washed over him at the very second of orgasm, as he had spilled his precious self into Slade's waiting mouth…

And that burning pain that he had quickly grown to love; that which had been enough to arouse him again. The hot friction that had shuddered right throughout him, dragging him willingly into sinful depths that, as Robin the Boy Wonder – that beautiful, untouchable poster boy of justice; the Batman's perfectly-sculpted sidekick – he could never know.

That he _should_ never know.

He only cried harder.

Shame.

Despair.

A desire so sinful he could not bear to comprehend it.

All for _them_.

How could he stand alongside them now, after all that he had done? After he had simply spread his legs and allowed Slade take him, as though he was nothing but another whore. How did he still have the right to stand between Superman and Batman, the Teen Titans on one side, the Justice League on the other, cast against a rising sun; his cape flapping in a dramatic breeze, his spikes too being caressed by it, that beautiful, righteous smile on his pale, youthful, handsome face?

Ignoring the tightness in his crotch whenever he thought of his so-called arch-nemesis.

No, he no longer had that right. It was arrogant and hypocritical of him to believe that he _had_. Rape was one thing; submitting to it to save his friends. But no matter what he thought now, he had still enjoyed tonight. He regretted it now, cursing every tiny sound that had escaped his firm lips, every buck of his hips, but that belated remorse changed nothing.

Not now.

He stiffened as he felt Slade shift beside him, but the older man – naked aside from his mask – did not awaken. Rolling over, Robin studied Slade's broad, powerful back in the light of the lamp that had failed to be turned off following the night's events. His master was most certainly asleep, more peaceful and less threatening than Robin had ever deemed possible. It was as though, when sedated like this, he was a whole different person.

One which, nevertheless, Robin feared and hated.

_And desired_.

He flattened the thought, pretending it had never even ventured into his head. Instead his sharp mind began to tick, weighing things out…

Slade was asleep; naked, no less. That meant that he didn't have the controller on him, and he couldn't stop Robin from taking it.

Justification for his actions.

He gratefully allowed himself to believe that, to cling to it. That it had all been a pretense. A ruse, to lure Slade into a sense of false security. Now that he slept – separated from the trigger – Robin was free to make his move.

This was how he'd planned it.

Of course.

Wiping his tear-stained face, Robin began to writhe around a little under the covers, testing the waters, experimenting to see how light a sleeper Slade was. He seemed to be quite a deep one, actually – although maybe he was just exhausted – and Robin smiled.

He wriggled out from under the covers, snatching his black cotton shorts from the floor. He pulled them on silently, suddenly feeling… safer.

Saner.

He quickly retrieved the rest of his uniform, pulling it on just as unceremoniously as Slade had pulled it off. He winced as the _click_ of his neck-plate echoed throughout the silent bedroom, but Slade didn't even twitch. He adjusted his pointed mask and looked over his shoulder at Slade.

Still asleep.

Robin smiled; he was, after all, trained in the art of silence. Ninjutsu was second nature to him. He was glad that the lamp was already on, however; it gave him the light he needed without him having to venture too near Slade's sleeping form. He crept lightly across the room to where Slade's own black leather and spandex uniform was discarded, shifting quietly through it, wincing every time he heard metal clink against metal.

A triumphant smile spread across his face as he located the trigger and held it aloft. Smirking now at his victory, he stood, slipping the little control into one of the leather pouches at his belt. He was about to steal from the room when something else caught his eye, glinting with a gold spark in the narrow light of the lamp. It was coming from the slightly-open drawer Slade had taken the scarf with which to blindfold him from.

Robin slipped across the room to the chest of drawers, his footsteps as silent as a shadow, and carefully winched the drawer open a little more.

He blinked.

And then he smiled.

His crimson and emerald uniform was folded neatly in the drawer, the black and yellow cape spread beneath it. The gold thing that had caught his attention had been his "R" insignia badge catching the light. He reached out and touched its smooth, polished surface, remembering the night he had stood in a cold dripping cave, one hand held aloft, the other at his heart by the light of a single white candle.

The vow he had made.

He slid his fingers back off the badge, his heart aching. He had broken that vow. First as Red X, and now…

…Now _this_…

But he had the trigger; he was going to set things right. That was what mattered now.

That was _all_ that mattered.

Slade had confiscated his original uniform for obvious reasons. Even now, Robin could see that his T-communicator was missing. Slade had probably destroyed it, Robin reasoned. But his utility belt…

The belt at Robin's own waist was, of course, empty; but for the stolen control. And speaking of, how was he planning on sabotaging it? With his bare fingers?

Reaching cautiously into the drawer again, Robin worked loose a birdarang from the yellow belt; he didn't dare take the whole thing. No, just one birdarang would be fine for his needs…

Nudging the drawer back to its original position, Robin made silently for the door, unlocking it and squeezing through the tiny liberating gap. He closed it with one final, nervous glance in Slade's direction. Truthfully, he had half-expected to turn and find Slade sitting up in bed watching him.

But still his master slept.

Oblivious.

Breathing a sigh of mute relief, Robin broke into a run, sprinting down corridor after corridor until he came to the main room of the underground base. The doors here were always open and he pounded inside, breathlessly shutting the door behind him. He leaned against it as the echo of closure vibrated throughout the empty room, refracting in crazy splintered angles around the groaning clanking gears that turned endlessly high above.

He heard the fluttering and squeaking of bats too as the sound unsettled them and felt strangely comforted by their erratic flight. He had begun to feel that he was losing himself as Slade bent his will further and further to the point of breaking, but hearing those bats now…

It was like someone tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him of whom he was.

'_Remember me?'_

So he held his head high as he crossed the dark room purposefully, heading for Slade's throne-like chair, his stride confident and powerful, as though he was once again leading his team to victory. He sank into it and leaned his head against the back for a few seconds, closing his eyes, his hands gripping the arm-rests.

Keeping those precious few seconds of calm for himself, he opened his eyes again and fished the control out from his belt, toying with it idly between his leather-gloved fingers.

He did, in effect, hold their lives in his hand.

The contraption had been deftly built; it had no screws or hair line openings that he could pry open. It seemed that the only possible way to get inside and disarm the blackmail device would be to pop the button off the top and then proceed to clip wires, short out the fuse, and wreak general havoc on the offensive item. However… there was always the risk of inadvertently pressing the button and causing his friends pain, or – inadvertedly worse – death.

A horrifying mistake which would make this whole sexual escapade pointless.

_Not entirely pointless…_

He quickly squelched the small but dangerous thought.

"I did that for my friends, not for anything else," he murmured under his breath. Talking to himself; first sign of madness.

_You still liked it…_

Robin exhaled slowly, trying to get all the buzzing distracting thoughts from his mind. The tiny controller he held in his hand was the only thing holding him back from his friends. An insignificant scrap of metal was his current god. It held both his future, and the future of his friends. Death or liberation.

And he couldn't get the damn thing open.

He breathed deeply again, smoothing down his frazzled nerves. He would need total concentration if he was going to do this right. Carefully he placed the apex of his stolen birdarang in the miniscule crevice between the button and the metal of the controller. He smiled grimly at the tight fit. Knowing his weapons had been sharpened so that they could split hairs helped expand a tiny bubble of pride within him. If he could hit tiny targets from 100 feet away while fighting off an enemy, then popping the top off this thing should be easy.

Delicately he applied pressure, hoping the button would just crack or snap off. But it didn't budge. It was as if the leverage wasn't even there. Slowly he pushed a little more. Still nothing. With frustration building a small wall of irrationality around his patience, he shoved down with all his weight, muscles shaking with exertion and his hand burning from the stress.

The cap – in a sudden change of heart – flew off the controller with such force that it went sailing across the room, landing with a cheerful clink somewhere in the darkness.

Robin peered down at the newly created opening and saw the naked receptor with some neatly laid wires running down into its depth. He silently celebrated when he saw the layout. He was no tech whiz like Cyborg, but even he had some knowledge in disarming bombs. He already knew what he had to do.

He gripped the finely honed birdarang and carefully wriggled it beneath a blood red wire. Robin held his breath as he slowly rotated the weapon, the razor sharp edge barely brushing the wire. His entire being focused on that one point, that fine cutting edge so close to slicing open his freedom…

"I never expected you to fall for that dummy wire…"

Robin was immediately doused with icy fear as the deep voice echoed around him. Terrified because he'd almost murdered his friends, but even more so since…

…Slade was _right behind him…_

He froze for a few seconds, terrified; then he tried to move.

Far too late.

Slade's hands slammed down on his wrists, pinning them to the arms of the chair. Robin kicked and writhed, but his escape attempts were futile; Slade was standing behind the chair.

"You're going to pay for your disobedience, you insolent little bastard," Slade hissed, his voice centimeters from Robin's ear. "Or rather… your _friends_ are going to pay for it…"

"No…" Robin struggled to cling to the mutilated trigger as Slade prised it from his grip.

"Come on now," Slade whispered mockingly. "Give it to daddy…"

A sound of utter despair escaped Robin as Slade took the trigger back, pocketing it.

"But not yet, my little bird," Slade went on lethally. "No, first I must contend with _you_. You _know_ I won't stand for disobedience, Robin. Anything you do to displease me will result in punishment. And _this_ displeases me _very much indeed_…"

He released the boy's wrists and threw him from the chair, allowing him to scrape along the floor until he came to a halt.

"In some ways, this amuses me," Slade murmured, advancing on his apprentice, his hands behind his back. He too, of course, was fully dressed, and there was no passion present within his icy gray eye now.

Only pure, cold fury.

"Yes, amusement." He laughed slightly. "I admire your mind, Robin; I love your underhandedness. But being underhanded with _me?…_ Robin, I am afraid that it is something I simply will not tolerate. And so, my sweet apprentice, you must be punished…"

* * *

Ah, another half-assed final line… Guess you can all figure out what happens next. There's supposed to be a fight scene, but I'm not sure if we're doing one now, or… 

Never mind, you'll soon see.

Next chapter Narroch06 has a nasty/lovely little surprise for us all (yeah, _I_ dunno what happens yet either…). Make sure you at least come back for _that_…

Don't forget to R+R (which _doesn't_, as I used to think, stand for Robin+Raven…)! Your love inspires us!…

_Asylum_ updated, BTW, and all who haven't read and reviewed Narroch06's _Abyss_ are coming closer and closer to facing my wrath…


	7. Noli Me Tangere

You know, apparently super-long author notes with a declarative purpose – a specialty of mine – are no longer allowed on But hey; when have _I_ ever conformed to the rules of this site? _This_ story is actually past the limitations of the age-ratings; technically it should be on the adult fanfic site. _This_ chapter – written mostly by the wonderfully-talented Narroch06 (and I'm not just saying that to pin the blame on her if we get into trouble for this) – is absolutely no exception. Fans of sadistic practices via Slade to Robin, welcome to your haven.

Last time we left you on a decisive note; you were left assured that Robin would not get away with his act of disobedience; or, indeed, _ungratefulness_. So here it seems only natural that we pick up with a classic scene consisting of Slade whipping Robin's sorry ass; followed up by… well, I'm not saying, but most of it is courtesy of Narroch06. I hope you all think it to be as brilliant as _I_ did.

Rocky Wolf; once again, this is all thanks to you…

Phoenix Skyborne; _of course_ Slade was playing possum; the guy is an _insomniac_…

NightRobin; I really hope you like this next part!

Setsuna Mudo; same as above! Glad you're enjoying it! And _please_ update _The Bird and His Cage_ soon, so I can review you!

Seductive Angel; you love it really…

Emmery; here's your update! Do enjoy!

Quinn, uh… ran away screaming…

And, gosh… 0.o Anyone else who reviewed, but I can't remember… Sorry!

Well, I shall let you get on. Do enjoy Narroch06's (and _mine_… sort of…) fabulous work!

_Enjoy it…_

Noli Me Tangere

_(Do Not Touch – Latin)_

Hurt…

Everything hurt. All he was now – it seemed – was one big physical personification of mind-blowing hurt.

Hurt so bad he could barely see through the haze of pain.

Robin crumpled onto the floor, huddling himself into a protective little ball. The non-too-graceful landing from that last throw had cracked him squarely on the skull and everything was fading, weakening as though being diluted. His vision was blurred and darkened, swimming lazily in and out of a focused camera lens. His hearing was being gargled and everything sounded very distant; as if he was being held deep underwater.

Slowly drowning in a sea of pain.

A sea of blood; of tears.

Of utter defeat.

Agony was the only constant stimulus that was not being dulled. Every movement sent a lacerating tremor throughout him. Every breath brought in an acidic tsunami cascading into his chest. He had been punched in the gut so many times it felt like someone was sandblasting his organs. Sweat tore down his face in thick channels, slicing trenches through the patches of blood. His heavy breath sawed through the abstract darkness in pathetic beseeching gasps; his desperate lungs could not get enough air.

Once Slade had started his assault Robin had felt relieved. The physical pain of a fist was something he could deal with. It wasn't confusing, or complex. Simply dodge, recover, parry, and attack. That dangerous dance brought back his old familiar friends. Hatred, and rage. They rose valiantly to the surface whenever he fought Slade and they were constant. They did not shift around from desire to regret, lust to disgust. They were so solid he could feel them glowing in his tightly clenched fist.

It was easy.

But now reality was sliding down the steep slope of inevitability. Even if fighting with jujitsu was more natural to him than fighting between the sheets, it was still hurting Robin badly. He was still losing blood. Slade was not pulling any punches, not holding back. He was literally beating Robin to death. Or at least close to it.

He could not – _would_ not – have an act of disobedience from his soldier.

His toy.

And in the end a toy soldier is only made of tin. Very bendable tin.

It was when something had broken deep inside of the boy that it had stopped being a fight. He had felt it, heard it. It was a snapping sensation, a pop sounding very similar to his bad habit of cracking his knuckles. A sickening feeling not unlike the sensation fired by his broken arm, the just consequence of racing after Johnny Rancid on that stormy city night. Some of the former, a lot of the latter, though it was mostly it was the implicit feeling of a tree trunk being shattered by a white fang of lightning.

The unfortunate tree being his torso.

It wasn't as superficial as a broken arm either. There was a worse oozing slickness that trailed the initial agony. Internal pain that was oily, wet, and cold. It stung, it ached, it positively _screamed_; and he didn't like the way it twisted around his intestines.

But either way, after that nauseous crick their battle had been transformed into a cruel beating. Robin was too exhausted to fight back anymore and it seemed that Slade's punishment was far from over.

Indeed, it was when Robin was beaten down, helpless and in agony that Slade's real penalty would begin. And Robin was teetering dangerously close to that condition, rolling around and squirming on the floor in an overbearing swill of misery.

Writhing.

Slade loved it. Seeing the Teen Titan – the brave, daring, confident, _arrogant_ leader – twist and squirm on his self-imposed hook was so satisfying. That vulnerable groveling position, the whines and moaning gasps sliding from his mouth, the sweat shimmering on his skin, contrasting brilliantly with the smears of his deeply red blood. The whole carnal scene was turning Slade on yet again.

His little robin-red-breast. Red not for his crimson shirt; but for another, far more deliciously-brutal reason.

Robin watched numbly, his strength flagging, as Slade strode forward and pulled his metal-and-leather-cased foot back.

He was flying again… He was also on fire now it seemed… God, it _hurt_…

Slade was pleased with Robin's reaction. Save for a harsh yell of pain, he had done nothing to avoid that last kick. Seeing him flop bonelessly to the floor with a small pebbled trail of blood leading to his crumpled form only served as further justification.

Behind his mask, Slade smiled deeply; indulgently. It was such a beautiful scene. Robin looked _so_ good in red…

And once the victim stops struggling, it is time to move on to some other form of torture. A _better_ form.

Besides, his already-tight pants seemed to be shrinking…

Slade sauntered over to the broken boy once again, but with a completely different stride. Loosening his utility belt suggestively.

Robin saw the telltale signs and frantically struggled to crawl away, but his limbs were convulsing in mutiny at his attempt. They melted to jelly before he even moved a foot. He collapsed and simply watched Slade approach, apprehension rising with every heavy footfall. By the time his master had reached his side his fear had raised to a real panic level.

But he could do absolutely nothing. It hurt just being conscious.

Slade simply nudged his apprentice curiously with the toe of his boot, rolling him limply onto his back.

"_Slade_…" Robin muttered miserably, not being able to do anything else. In response Slade slammed his armored foot down onto Robin's splayed hand. He heard an exquisite crunch and then a wrenching scream-

Robin slowly realized that it was coming from his own ragged throat.

"I'm sorry, what was that you said?" Slade drawled, his voice like silk. He delicately lifted his foot from Robin's crunched hand and admired his work.

After the scream had died, all Robin could commit to was a dry squeak.

"Look at you…" Slade hissed, nudging the boy again, this time with more disdain.

Robin couldn't tell if he was impressed or disappointed. The older man's other foot unexpectedly crashed onto his already-struggling broken chest. Robin's eyes lolled back in his head – the pain of Slade's crushing weight was far too great to express through his severely limited vocal chords. He was dimly aware on a different level that he was vomiting, the acrid bile being forced up when Slade leaned his full weight onto his stricken body. He spluttered as some of the warm puke rolled down the side of his face from his slightly-open mouth, though it was not enough to keep him from choking on the vomit still in his throat. His managed to turn his head to the side and spat the sour mouthful onto the floor, freeing up his airway. His one un-smashed hand twitched and curled spasmodically when he lifted it with more energy than he could ever remember needing to grasp weakly at Slade's ankle. He was going to die. There was no way his screaming ribcage could withstand being bent with elasticity not usually seen in humans. There is only so much thin strips of compressed calcium can take.

Slade bent down and ruthlessly tore Robin's encroaching hand from his foot. He slammed the offending wrist to the floor and flipped out the single confiscated birdarang, materializing the crescent from the shadows.

A tiny sliver of light reflected off its gold edge and caught Robin's blurred attention only for a second before he realized with horror what Slade was planning to do. But the arched blade's progress could not be hindered by his shocked will alone and so he only stared in macabre fascination as it plunged in imagined slow motion right through his outspread hand.

_Pain, pain, go away, come again another day… _

He screamed with more energy than he thought possible. The white hot pain burned all the way up to his elbow, as though his fingertips had seen set alight and the flame was spreading. His heels scrabbled frantically on the ground and a deluge of tears sprung out of his eyes. Robin's dimming world narrowed down, until everything centralized on his impaled hand. That volcanic liquid pain that was now flowing through his veins.

Slade sidestepped off Robin so he could curl up around his nailed hand, still screaming and shaking. It hurt so badly. He couldn't even think straight, didn't have the sense to pull it out from the floor when it was causing him such harrowing agony. Slade quickly grew tired of his cacophonous complaining and swiftly kicked him in the jaw.

"Shut up," he snapped. "You should be grateful that I avoided the tendons. It would have been easy to handicap that limb, you know. However…" His smile returned, his expression darkening behind his mask. "With your current skill level, there is no doubt that you would not be able to handle such an impairment. So for now, if I wish for you to learn anything at all from me, I must allow you some leverage. An _advantage_, if you will."

Robin heard him vaguely through his moans and knew that Slade was taunting him. His master made no effort to try and hide his own disability, the blatant pure black half of his mask only serving to further embitter Robin.

_You can't hit me even with one of my eyes out of commission… How about an arm behind my back? How about I tie myself up on a silver platter? Still you can't touch me. You're pathetic, boy; unworthy of all that I have given to you._

Robin was still seeing stars from the last blow, his mouth pooling with blood from where his teeth had torn the inside of his cheek on impact. He watched in doubling and tripling vision as Slade bent down and grabbed hold of his ankle. With strength born from the adrenaline of pain, Robin lashed his other foot out, trying to kick Slade in the head. The movement only tore the traitorous birdarang deeper into his hand; invariably, the foolish kick was accompanied with another wrenching scream.

He never found out if his uncharacteristically-clumsy blow connected; consciousness is _so_ overrated.

Robin must have been out for only a few minutes because when he came to, nothing had changed except that he suddenly felt a lot… _colder_. He still hurt, his hand was still speared through, and Slade was… Slade…

Where _was_ he?…

Robin feebly tried to lift his head, gasping from the effort and additional pain the tiny movement caused. He gasped again – surprise instead of pain – when he discovered that he was suddenly – _oddly_ – naked, and also that Slade… was crouched smugly between his slightly spread legs.

_No wonder I'm freezing my damn ass off… What the hell is he…?_

He choked a tiny bit, his labored breath hitching involuntarily when Slade glanced into his eyes, swinging the trigger languidly between his index finger and his thumb.

"Well, look who's back…" Slade cocked his head slightly, his one silver eye penetrating Robin's blue ones concealed behind his mask. "I do hope your little nap helped clear your head…"

Robin shakily let his head return to the floor; gravity was much harsher today for some reason… Slade hefted Robin's right calf up onto his shoulder, parting the young boy's thighs a little more and pinning his other leg to the floor with a heavy knee, talking in a deep resonating voice all the while;

"You gave yourself to me just for this, and look where such faulty heroics got you… Dear Robin, do your little friends really mean that much to you? Do you miss them that badly? Well, who am I to refuse? After all, you've been so _good_ these past few days. Why not give you your just _reward?_…"

Robin blinked a few times in disbelief. He would have shaken his head and rubbed at his eyes in amazement if it didn't hurt so much. Shaking his head right about now would probably kill him. But that was _it?_ After everything Slade had put him through; beaten him, raped him, humiliated him, then pleasured him so… He was just going to _give_ him the damn control? The Boy Wonder couldn't grasp the concept, it was too incredible…

_Unfortunately_… most things in life that are too good to be true usually are.

Slade gripped the opened top of the trigger and forcefully thrust the other end of it into Robin-

It was like a second spine was taking root and trying to grow into him. He couldn't help but scream at the suddenness of it, and the horrible agony of skin being torn a second time in one night. His world was tearing in two starting from his ass and he could do absolutely nothing about it. He squirmed and writhed and kicked – tried fruitlessly to get away – only hurting himself more by struggling. Somewhere in the bitter blinding storm of pain Robin heard Slade murmur sadistically; "This is only the _tip_, Robin…"

And then he pushed it in some more. Robin bucked wildly, his bloody hand sliding up and down on the birdarang imprisoning him while his already tunneled world narrowed down some more, feeling nothing but the metal currently being forced into him with the same determination of a child with a stubborn puzzle piece. It was cold and dry, even though it caused a pain hotter the sun; ripping away inside him in different places than before.

Slade quelled his apprentice's efforts by hooking his knee all the way over his broad back and pushing ruthlessly down on his other leg. Robin's bones screamed in protest at the strange twisting angle; not even his limber body could take the strain of being pressured apart with all the gusto of an insane chiropractor. Robin threw his free hand up at Slade, trying desperately to fling him off somehow.

"Do you wish for me to indispose _that_ hand too?" His tormentor snapped with deadly seriousness, the simple sentence stopping Robin's arm before it even touched him. The broken boy let his feeble hand flop back to the cold floor and Slade nodded at the weak surrender.

"Friendship is overrated, Robin," he purred, jiggling the controller in further as he continued; "Surely you've realized that by now? Your friends have nothing short of abandoned you, left you in my "devious" clutches. They've left you at my _mercy_, my little apprentice; and if I see fit, they've left you to _die_…"

Robin squeaked in response, tears streaming down his face; his lower body locked up as he felt his master drive that cursed trigger in farther, the twisted device seemingly taking up more space in his violated body than _he _did.

He wouldn't let Slade's words get to him. He was just trying to poison him, trying to get him to hate his friends. Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven, _Starfire_… If only they _knew_; they would never leave him here to be subjected to _this_, even for _their_ sakes…

"Well, I think it's time to say _goodbye_…" Slade murmured, rubbing Robin's smooth, pressured thigh.

Robin sighed gratefully, expecting the horrible joke to be over. Expecting Slade to tug out the controller and drag him away to his tiny cubby room. To throw him into that dark cold room and freeze or bleed or _cry_ himself to death.

He was not anticipating flashing red lights and the precise beeping sound of activated probes that echoed right throughout him body, coursing through him starting from where the offensive item penetrated him.

"_Slade!_" He screamed. "Stop! STOP! I'm sorry! Please… _please_ don't kill them!"

"I told you at the beginning, Robin; any act of disobedience will result in their deaths," Slade drawled, his voice contrastingly calm against the screeching sirens.

"_I'm sorry!_" Robin wailed, struggling again, ignoring the pain that trampled ruthlessly through him with every last movement. "I'll do anything you want, _anything_, just please, _please_ don't kill them!"

"This isn't about what I want from you, Robin. This is a punishment."

Robin wasn't sure what else to do short of desperately repeating; "Slade, I'll do _anything_, just _stop!_" over and over, his voice scraping like a broken record, his breath being snatched from his lungs the longer and harder he begged…

Slade looked down on his bleeding crying apprentice, seeing the prime example of hopeless anguish painted vividly across his pale, bloody face. He couldn't help but chuckle softly at how easily manipulated the child was. How he could twist even his own emotions around his dark will. How _weak_ he was…

"You would be much stronger if you just broke your ties with them, you know," he whispered, leaning into the flailing teenager. "What doesn't kill you will only make you _stronger_… Admit it, Robin. They were slowing you down, holding you back from your true capabilities. They never set the challenge you crave, as _I_ have. They never strengthened you as I have. They never motivated you to the levels I have…"

Twisted smile.

"They never pleasured you as _I_ have. Not even the alien girl, whom you liked so…"

Robin was sobbing helplessly. He could do _nothing_. Slade wasn't asking for anything this time; he was just enjoying the slow death show. Both of his friends, and Robin's own psyche. The punishment. So hopelessly running out of appeasement options, Robin began to kick and struggle in earnest, ignoring the tearing violent pain inflicted on his body. But Slade only pushed in harder, leaned down closer until his duality mask was floating scant inches from his weak little apprentice's face. He whispered to him, soft and sharp as steel.

_No_.

It was sharper, it cut _through_ steel.

It cut through pain.

It cut through _time_.

"You were useless until I came," Slade whispered, his voice holding an edge like the soft sharpness of a finely-honed blade. That which tickles when touched lightly; cuts hard and deep when pressed upon. "So _pathetically_ useless. You _needed_ me, because you didn't know how to properly hate without me."

"_Shut up_…" Robin quivered at the sound of his own voice. The tiny weak wobbling thing that sounded tired enough to be dead. That couldn't be his voice. Not _Robin_, the Boy Wonder. The poster boy of truth, peace and justice. The handsome, young, virgin pin-up, in his brilliant skintight crimson, saffron and emerald uniform, the black and gold badge glinting on his chest. The one the female superheroes swooned over; the one the male superheroes looked up to.

Not Batman's protégé. Not the leader of the Teen Titans. That _couldn't_ be his voice…

"I made you, Robin," Slade went on, trailing one finger lightly along Robin's aching, bloody jawline. "I am responsible for what you are today, and you _hate_ me because of it. But it was that hate that made you. _I made you._"

Robin screamed again, his wail of pure misery competing with the sirens of his friends' deaths. There wasn't much else he could do as Slade tainted the memory of himself, tore it up into bloody confetti right before his aching teary eyes. He had tried to be strong, he really had. But Slade was armed with weapons of mass mental and physical torture, and he simply didn't play fair. Instead of pushing buttons he jabbed into them with red hot pokers. Robin curled against him, soaked in sweat and blood, trying to breathe and scream and feebly push Slade away, all at the same time. Slade was right. He was weak. Shamefully, hopelessly weak in his current position.

Utterly, despairingly hopeless.

It just wasn't fair. And no matter what he did, how much he tried, how much he denied, how much he _fought_, things just wouldn't ever _become_ fair.

So he told the world about it. He screamed long and hard until his throat tore and his battered jaw ached about just how unfair everything was.

It wasn't until he felt a pain-slicked _pop_ – signaling the controller finally leaving his body – that he realized the crimson lights were no longer flashing. The probes had gone back into a deceitful dormancy, willing to spring back to work the instant Robin took another step over the line. Baby step. Baby-with-manacles-on step.

"You will remember your place from now on, Robin," Slade hissed. "Do you hear me, boy?"

Robin just lay on the cold metal floor weakly, numb as more tears slipped down his face.

Slade smiled at the practically-visible misery and despair radiating from the teenaged boy's battered body.

"Do you need another reminder of who the _real_ master is here?" He drawled, unzipping himself…

Robin writhed miserably, his broken, speared hand twitching a little in response-

With no other warning, Slade pushed his hard erection into Robin's bloody entrance. He had been waiting for a while, being fully turned on by his apprentice's screams, before plunging into the young, wrecked body laid out before him.

Even the cold anesthetized feeling that had washed over Robin was not enough to block the pain of being penetrated a third time that night. It was not nearly as bad as the controller – flesh was much more forgivable than metal – but it still hurt like agony undeserved by even… _Slade himself_…

Slade _had_ to be deliberately trying to make it hurt; Robin, in brief disjointed flashes, remembered the soft glow of the bedroom lamp, the shining, luxurious crimson sheets, the slow sweet sensations, all of them an eternity away from what he was experiencing now. He was seeing fantastic stars as Slade violently pounded in and out of him, using his blood to slide in with agonizing precision, turning the birdarang into a distant stabbing pain. The Boy Wonder had never known this type of ripping tearing violence before – even the first time Slade had raped him had been gentler than _this_.

Slade lifted his lither hips off the floor and began thrusting downwards, driving his slim shoulders into the cold concrete with the new flaming intensity. The extra agonizing movement awakened all the other pains and wounds scattered across his body with the alarm clock from hell, and Robin couldn't help but whimper helplessly.

Then an unwelcome feeling arose. Slade was hitting _that_ spot again. How Robin could feel anything through the overwhelming pain was beyond him, but his body was reacting once again, pooling delicious warmth between his legs.

He heard Slade laugh harshly at his lack of restraint even in the most despicable of situations, and Robin couldn't help but hate himself for that as he came with an explosive vigor, spilling himself all over his stomach. White light flashed before his eyes-

_More? How can there still be more! _

"_I_… _control_… _you_…" Slade murmured in concentrated efforts between slamming in and out of Robin.

It was at that point Robin truly wanted to die. But the closest he could get to death was only a temporary escape. It had been teasingly close the entire time, but now Robin grasped for unconsciousness, floating through the easy white light in his mind, going limp in Slade's lusty grasp.

Noticing Robin's exit from the scene didn't stop Slade from finishing up, shooting his essence into his comatose apprentice, and then ramming into him a few more times just for the utter depravity of it all.

He dropped his toy in disdain when he was done, sliding back out of him. He couldn't help but admire the blood dripping from his member, following the macabre trail to the unconscious boy's entrance. He touched it, drove his finger into it, but Robin offered no acknowledgement of yet another intimate intrusion. He was utterly – gratefully – out of it.

Slade's finger came back, the leather encasing it shining with blood. He cleaned himself off with Robin's discarded outfit, zipped himself up again and reached over, carelessly tugging the birdarang back from Robin's pinned hand and slipping it into his own belt. He easily picked the naked, bloody, unconscious boy up and slung him over his broad shoulder, leaving the main room and taking him back to his bedroom.

The lamp still glowed softly, making the scarlet sheets shine lustrously. A quiet reminder of what had happened not even hours ago. The juxtaposition was incredibly harsh as Slade ditched the bleeding naked teenager on the mattress and unceremoniously threw the sheets over him.

Putting him back into his own freezing, tiny quarters in _this_ state was not a good idea for the time being, Slade knew. In his present condition, the boy might well die during the night if exposed to the cruel conditions he was usually made to suffer.

Better to keep him here, in the warmth, where he could keep an eye – literally _eye_ – on him.

Because he didn't want Robin to _die_. Not _yet_.

There was still too much fun to be had…

* * *

Anyone who complains can go leap off a cliff without a grappling hook because if you don't like this sort of stuff, _why_ have you read up to chapter _seven!_

No, really, Narroch06 and I really, _really_, REALLY hope you liked this chapter. The idea has been in the works for weeks and the unedited chapter went back and forth across the globe via the internet a few times, so we can only pray you all enjoyed the result.

Be sure to tell us what you all thought of the content, and we'll see what we can do about another chapter!

BTW, it would appear that _Teen Titans Season 6_ has officially been cancelled! NOOOOOOO! I got the info from but they're not sure it's actually true yet. Everyone keep writing to the CN head offices and such like! Don't give up!

TEEN TITANS MUST BE SAVED FROM IMPENDING DOOM!


	8. Your Sweet Dark Embrace

I know it's been a while since we updated, but this chapter has been in production a while – back and forth across the globe, Britain-USA and then back again – and we wanted to get it just right. Italic font means, of course, a dream – yes, **another** one – but this one is a bit darker than Chapter 3, _For Them_. My original draft was pretty much a manifestation of smut and sex, etc. Lucky I have Narroch06 then, to pull me back out of the _abyss_… Most of the wonderful metaphors and descriptions (of the storm, etc.) are Narroch06's work. Plus her idea for the statues… well, I don't wanna spoil it all. You'll see what I mean when you get there.

Rocky Wolf; must get around to reading the next chapter/s of The Rocky/Slade Story…

Phoenix Skyborne; you know, Stockholm Syndrome is a REALLY good idea… and UPDATE! Know where Yami no Kaiba went, BTW?

DStar504; no, it doesn't make you a bad person.

NightWater; yeah, check out that TitansGo! website.

El Violinista; thanks for your gratuitous use of superlatives to describe our fic!

Crashval; Egad! Glad you like it so!

NightRobin; back again for more? Thank Narroch06 for that wonderfully brutal last chapter!

Setsuna Mudo; so very glad you're enjoying this, seeing as this fic and yours run so weirdly parallel. Amazing how many fics you can create out of one cliché storyline, huh? And UPDATE TBAHC! I want to review again and witter about old-school TT (ah, Jericho… what will you think of next, you little body-snatcher, you?)…

Emmery; I agree that Slade would probably beat Robin's ass a whole lot more if _Teen Titans_ weren't shown on Cartoon Network at prime time…

Seductive Angel; yes, after Fractured Skull, you are the second person to recommend sex toys, etc. Somehow, I can't see Slade going for that whole whipping/fur/leather straps/nipple-shock-box thing…

xXxShadesofGrayxXx; thankyou very much indeed! And right now would be a good time to plug Setsuna Mudo's _The Bird and His Cage_; you want some more really great Slade/Robin action – with a more elaborate psychological twist – hers is the one to read. Because, as Phoenix Skyborne rightly said in a review, _this_ fic _is_ pretty much just about sex…

Notoyax17; I think that's the kind of pain you _don't_ wanna feel…

And to AutumnDynasty and letfearruleyou (because I know you're both reading this); why don't you just Xerox a million copies and distribute them? Then blame me when everyone starts going into catatonic shock…

To all others… enjoy!

Your Sweet Dark Embrace

_It was the darkest night he had ever seen; a darkness so complete and pure it would have been more correct to say that it was the darkest night he had never seen. Thick black clouds loomed indifferently high above the broken city stretched out before him, the dense sky spitting rain in sheets, seeming to shatter the sidewalk beneath his feet with its sheer weight and power. A ceaseless deluge poured from a sky that was nothing but black falling water. Veins of lightning tore the ebony sky, gigantic, blinding white shards of glass from a broken cosmic mirror juxtaposed the darkness, insubstantial, yet overwhelmingly powerful. Colors that were hidden by the absolute darkness were turned either pure white or pure black shadow by the instantaneous lightning. Light that did not illuminate as much as penetrate. The thunder that followed was positively deafening, nature's cacophony shuddered throughout him as though there was a drum solo being mercilessly played within his ribcage._

_A clash of weather gods it truly was._

_And around him lay the ruin of Jump City; destroyed by another clash; by other gods._

_Godless gods._

_Stepping down another smashed street, Robin's footsteps echoed like a steady heartbeat; metal on wet shining concrete. His bright uniform clung to him, soaked through as he was; his jet black hair was plastered to his skull. His cape was draped right over his shoulders, the material offering him a little needed security as he continued to walk alone._

_He paused as he came to a billboard; looking up at it, he bit his lip as he saw that smiling image of himself pasted up there._

_The true poster boy._

_It was a huge glossy spread; his entire slim, perfect form captured in the similarly perfect lighting, his hands on his hips, his dark hair immaculate. His handsome smile, that innately promised protection and justice. Yes, he was truly beautiful in this portrayal; the Boy Wonder._

_What everyone **wanted** him to be. _

_And yet, when the time had come to give his services, he had failed to deliver. His promise had been painfully broken._

_He had been elsewhere, doing other things._

_Robin the Boy Wonder – Jump City's Batman._

_The guardian angel of the weak and the fallen. The wronged and the injusticed. The shining white knight of all things good. The beautiful boy every teenaged girl wanted on their wall._

_Wanted between their legs._

_Across the poster, near the bottom, someone had written in desperate accusing crimson strokes; _

**_Where were you?_**

_Elsewhere, doing other things._

_With someone between **his** legs._

_He had let this happen. He had not been there to lead his team to victory, and while they were certainly not weak, without his leadership their once aerodynamic assault had raveled apart at the seams. One by one they had been cut down – strong Cyborg; agile Beast Boy; powerful Raven; beautiful Starfire – crying for him, pleading to the empty air and bleeding streets to know where he was. Why he wasn't at their side. And when they had fallen, Slade's commandos had torn apart the city too, killed everyone and anyone still living as they tried to flee. Killing unnecessarily, beyond their need, murdering just because they could. There was no one to stop them, so the pointless incomprehensibly massacre was allowed to continue until the city was little more than a decayed shell. _

_Had Robin known that this had been going on, he would have stopped it. But he hadn't known._

_He truly hadn't._

_Instead he had been engaged elsewhere, brokenly shrieking his master's name as the older man had brought his small, unworthy body to yet another shuddering climax. He had been sobbing and shaking at the sensation of Slade's tongue caressing his boyish arousal. He had been elsewhere, doing **other** things._

_And he hadn't known._

_And while he had lain, exhausted, sleepy and content, in his master's strong arms, drifting off to a peaceful repose, he had unwittingly allowed his city – and his team-mates – to die._

_Fresh tears stinging his masked eyes, Robin turned away from the wet condemning poster and walked in the opposite direction. Again he trudged street after broken street, stepping around corpses that didn't seem to bleed, over pages of torn wet newspapers, their headlines screaming "Where Was Robin?". Everything reminding him of his dismally failed duty. All the while the torrential rain continued to wash away the blood of the dead city, sending it cascading down drains and manholes to be forever submerged like bruises beneath abused skin. Nature's careless cleanup crew._

_And eventually, in the very heart of the destroyed city, he reached his unintentional destination. He was subconsciously drawn to it, his vigil. His refuge._

_The stone tribute to the Teen Titans stood on its platform, just as it always had. Wet granite likenesses of Cyborg, Raven, Beast Boy and Starfire, their heroic stone faces turned upwards towards the stormy sky. They were depicted larger than life, elevated and each one glowing with compassion. They were captured beautifully, each in their prime. _

_**He** was not there, of course. He never had been. He had abandoned them too long ago._

_Beyond this was one of Batman, much larger than the one of the Titans, the Dark Angel ironically recreated in snow white marble. Robin was not sure why there was a statue of Batman in Jump City instead of Gotham, and it was something he had never deigned to ask; only simply accepted._

_His team-mates. His mentor._

_And he stood alongside neither of them._

"_Do you miss them, Robin?"_

_Slade._

_Robin stiffened, clenching his wet fists. He could never leave behind his shadow for long._

"_Yes," he said through gritted teeth as he felt Slade step right up behind him._

"_Well, I suppose that's only natural," Slade noted. "In time the feeling will fade."_

"_How can you say that?" Robin spat._

"_Because I know that it is right."_

_With an angry cry, Robin whipped around and swung a powerful backfist at Slade's face; the masked man simply caught his apprentice's hand, blocking the assault with ease and shoved him backwards. Robin staggered against the platform of the Titans' statues and almost lost his balance. He regained his composure– _

_Only to gasp in shock as he found Slade leaning over him, way too close for comfort. He recoiled, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes._

_Slade laughed softly._

"_Still you deny these feelings; even after all I have shown you?"_

_Robin grimaced as he tried to push Slade off him._

"_What… feelings?" He grunted, shoving with all of his strength. Alas, he couldn't budge his master even an inch._

_Slade touched Robin's wet face gently and the boy froze._

"_Those feelings, my Robin," he drawled. Immediately Robin began to struggle again._

"_I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly between heaves and shoves. "The only thing I feel for you is **hatred**."_

_Slade grabbed Robin's chin, digging his leather-gloved fingers into his jaw; forcing him to look into his piercing eye._

"_Really?"_

_He laughed again, but this time the sound had a certainly more-vindictive tone. Another flash of lightning illuminated him in a way that looked almost godly, but then it faded again to cast him back in shadow as the roaring thunder followed, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. His free hand wandered carelessly down Robin's familiar body, fingers trailing playfully over the wet yellow utility belt before descending lower. Robin held his breath as Slade's strong hand cupped him gently and carefully between his small, youthful legs, clad in soaked clingy emerald spandex._

_Soaked clingy emerald spandex that did nothing to hide the boy's already-aching arousal; simply Slade's rough contact was enough to excite him._

_Slade smirked deeply behind his mask._

"_What feelings indeed, Robin," he murmured. "What feelings indeed…"_

_He began to expertly rub at his claim, but Robin refused to allow himself to be caught up in it, and used Slade's slackening in his grip to suddenly struggle free and scramble wildly onto the platform. Slade snatched aggressively for him but Robin scrabbled away, wriggling through the gaps between the stone forms of his dead friends. He would not let himself be seduced yet again, and especially not **here**._

_Not right in front of the only tribute to the Teen Titans. The team he had abandoned. No, he would not dishonor their memory, or their legacy, by allowing Slade to degrade him so right at the base of it. He would **not** stand against the stone Starfire and be sucked off; he would **not** cling to the granite Cyborg as Slade fucked his brains out once again._

_He dived through the final gap between Raven and Beast Boy and leapt off the other side of the platform. He slipped on the wet unreliable ground and fell face-first into a deep puddle, but he was already soaked through, so it hardly mattered. It did, however, allow Slade a few precious seconds to all but catch up with him. Robin desperately scrambled to his feet and broke into a sprint, darting towards the great marble statue of the Dark Knight. He took a flying leap onto the marble pedestal the statue stood proudly on, catching at Batman's great stone leg to stop himself from falling backwards again. Unfortunately, his wet gloves slipped on the wet stone and he toppled backwards anyway. He landed in a quivering heap on the concrete and buried his face in his arms as he felt Slade's feet come to rest beside him._

"_Well, that didn't get you very far, did it?" Slade drawled lazily, reaching down and hauling the boy to his feet by the scruff of his wet neck. "How about we try again?"_

_Robin whined and struggled feebly in his grip._

"_That's not the answer I want to hear, Robin."_

_Robin looked up at him defiantly._

"_I hate you," he moaned, twisting in his master's grip._

"_Indeed." Slade sounded highly amused. "That's why, deep down, you're secretly hoping I'm going to tear your wet clothes from your body and take you all over again, right here and right now."_

"_No…" Robin protested weakly._

"_**Yes**." _

_Slade threw Robin up against the Batman statue and deliberately tore off his wet metal duality mask, throwing it to one side. Though now maskless, Robin could still see little to no detail of the mysterious man's face; it was too heavily shadowed by the darkness that billowed everywhere, but for some reason the omnipresent shadows clung with increased tenacity to Slade revealed visage. However he had no time to contemplate it as Slade pushed right up against him and took him into a powerful unexpected kiss that stole his breath. His eyes widened initially; but soon they had slid shut as Slade drew him further and further into the passionate silky lip-lock. Slade's hips pushed up against his smaller ones, their crotches touched and Robin went limp in Slade's grip, melting at the delicious feeling of the contact. Slade smirked around the kiss and let his hands wander, coming back to Robin's rapidly-swelling crotch and beginning to gently rub again, teasing him to utter fullness through the wet material. Robin bucked his hips against the contact, clutching his arms around Slade's broad shoulders with a little mewling sound. Slade broke the kiss and instead began to trail his lips down Robin's throat, down to the black neckline of his wet cape. Robin bucked his hips a second time, thrusting himself against his master, and Slade lifted his mouth from Robin's neck and chuckled softly._

"_And here I always though that you were a somewhat stubborn person, Robin," he murmured. "In any case, your obstinacy has once again proven to be short-lived…"_

_Robin half-heartedly attempted to push Slade away again at that, but Slade only laughed harshly._

"_I don't think so, boy."_

_He loosened Robin's yellow belt and pulled up his soaked red shirt, peeling it away from his bare skin._

_Finding, to his satisfaction, two tiny wet peaked nipples. He descended greedily upon them, one hand still possessively on Robin's groin, and began to devour them, one at a time. Stuck there with his shirt hoiked up under his arms, Robin leaned back against the Batman statue and simply relished the beautiful feeling radiating from two places now; his chest, and his crotch. He mewled again, sounding pathetic and weak, like a kitten._

_Perhaps in Slade's arms, that's all he **was**. A pet. A plaything. _

_**Slade's** plaything._

_Slade's tongue finished its last few licks at Robin's erect right nipple and began to move south, kissing downwards, his tongue trailing down the boy's thin chest and flat, taut stomach. Robin arched into him, leaning his head against Batman's wet stone leg, as Slade drew his sodden shirt down again and began to slowly prise the buckle of his yellow belt apart. Finally it clicked apart and fell away, relinquishing its protective hold, sliding down over Robin's thin hips and landing with a muddy splash at his heels. Robin squirmed again at the feel of Slade's tongue lapping the collecting rain water from his navel; even more so that his master was also slowly but surely drawing down his green spandex pants, peeling the wet material from his thighs and tugging downwards._

"_Just giving you some breathing space," Slade said softly, lifting his lips from Robin's stomach and glancing up at him. Robin nodded vaguely and closed his eyes as Slade went on; "It was getting to be a bit of a tight fit in there, wouldn't you agree?"_

_He pulled Robin's pants right down to his knees, restricting him so that even if he changed his mind and tried to run, he would fall flat on his face. Robin, however, didn't seem to have any intention of running; at least, not until he was relieved of the problem that he clearly blamed Slade for._

_Slade's fingertips caressed the wet black material of Robin's tiny shorts – incidentally, he could see that they were expensive. In tiny white letters around the waistband was repeatedly printed "Tommy Hilfiger". Rich boy, huh? Somehow, that excited him even more, that such an expensive garment was having difficulty restraining the boy's desperate arousal._

_Straining and throbbing for **him**. _

_His strong fingers touched the tip of it through the material; and Robin shrieked suddenly, choking it back to the best of his ability, and then – when the charade was over – he bucked his hips hopefully. Slade laughed at him and Robin smiled, his masked eyes still closed, the rain staining his face like tears._

"_May I?" Slade voiced the question softly, almost politely, his fingers hooked inside that expensive Tommy Hilfiger waistband._

_Forgetting everything for a moment, Robin nodded vigorously._

"_Go for it," he murmured._

_Slade wrenched the shorts down, hearing that oh-so-expensive stitching rip with the force of it; you were talking $40+ here for a freakin' pair of shortie-shorts that were just going to get torn off anyway. Such garments were wasted on one such as Robin…_

_It was more perfect than he remembered it. Still boyish, but long and smooth and hard and wet… His leather glove reached for it, taking it firmly in hand, and Robin whined and squirmed once more, thoroughly amusing his master as he began to stroke it gently. A precious little pet…_

"_Slade!" _

_The one word came out ragged on a sharp inhalation as Robin gasped, leaning back, arching his spine…_

_Slade's entire hand enclosed around the length of it and began to rhythmically pump it, sending the nerve endings screaming as though they had been doused in petrol and set alight. And Robin screamed too, liquid pleasure coursing throughout his entire body in place of blood, all spawning from that one sinful place. _

_That one sinful touch._

_Slade's hand slipped away and Robin's eyes snapped open, another desperate whine escaping him. Still crouched on a lower level than his small apprentice, Slade stroked his stomach reassuringly._

"_Patience, Robin," he murmured. "You shall have what you desire most soon enough…"_

_His strong tongue flickered from his mouth and found the very tip of Robin's excited boyhood, tasting his anticipation and desperation; that which he had already spilled in his exhilaration. Instead of taking the boy fully into his mouth, however, he simply began to explore his length with his tongue, trailing along the underside of it, down towards the base. He licked briefly and gently at the boy's sensitive testicles, being temperate in the knowledge of what the pain was like. He was not **that** cruel…_

_Robin shrieked and shuddered some more at the contact, uttering breathy needy gibberish; most of it made no sense, but "Slade" was in there a few times, and it made the older man smile. He did not love Robin in an affectionate way – he would not hesitate to kill him if he disobeyed, in any case – but he liked it that Robin, however much he denied the feeling, loved **him**. If nothing else, it was one hell of an ego-boost._

_He kissed his way back up to the tip, making his apprentice squeal some more, and then lay claim to his boyish foreskin. He suckled it lightly, drawing it in between his teeth, and Robin gasped and positively **screamed** at the teasing sensation. He bucked his hips violently – repeatedly – and Slade was forced to release him._

"_If you don't stop that ridiculous thrashing around, I'm going to hurt you," he reasoned coldly. "I might bite you by accident, or… **not** by accident, if you carry on."_

_Robin whined and sniffled._

"_I can't… help it…" he whispered breathlessly. "It felt so… good…"_

"_Restraint is something I have struggled to teach you," Slade reminded him icily. "Is it simply that you do not possess any, or that you think it unnecessary? Either way, boy, your approach to the situation is exceedingly arrogant and simple-minded; an approach that I am afraid I will not tolerate from you. Now, you either restrain yourself – for your own sake – or I'll **bite** the damn thing off. Do I make myself clear?" _

_Grimacing, Robin nodded nervously, droplets of water flying from his chin and hair as he did so. Slade gripped his boyhood extremely tightly and he winced and squirmed uncomfortably, tiny squeaks of pain escaping him._

"_Good." Slade slid his hand down to the base of it and began to slowly but firmly massage, earning more ragged moans from the boy._

_His toy. His pet. His plaything._

_As though suddenly becoming bored with simply rubbing and squeezing, Slade joined his leather-gloved thumbs, forming a triangle once again with his hands, this time around Robin's arousal. His lips became acquainted with it once again, tasting, licking; then his entire hot wet mouth enclosed around it, and Robin choked and unintentionally lurched forwards against his master, his hands gripping his broad shoulders._

_His sudden jerking movement forced Slade to immediately deep throat him._

_Robin screamed, his cry echoing on the heavy, empty air. Slade gagged slightly – initially – then adjusted himself so that he could breathe. His large hands slid down inconspicuously and became familiar with the insides of Robin's wet, shining thighs. His wet hair plastered itself against Robin's stomach as he moved his head with the pulsing rhythm._

_Shrieking again, Robin grasped hold of Slade's hair, pushing against the back of his head and jamming his pelvis against him, forcing it deeper still…_

_Using every ounce of his considerable strength, Slade pushed the boy away, throwing him up against the pedestal of the Batman statue. Robin staggered and collapsed against it, sliding down. Still with his green pants and expensive Tommy Hilfiger shorts down around his knees; still erect, aching…_

_Slade abruptly knelt and leaned right into him, his hand closing around his throat. Not choking him; just enough pressure to let him know that he was angry._

_**Really** angry._

"_Don't you **ever** – and I mean **EVER** – disrespect me in that fashion again!" He spat, his every syllable shaking with fury. His face was so close to Robin's, yet still he could practically nothing of his features. Even in this dreamworld – even **maskless** – Slade still remained enshrouded in shadow and mystery. Inches from him, and still Robin knew nothing; nothing of a man who knew **far** too much about **him**._

_His grip on Robin's neck tightened slightly and Robin squeaked and clawed at his hand; his almost-painful fullness was forgotten for the moment._

"_You're not the one in control here, Robin," Slade whispered, his voice almost lulling. "**I** am. Surely you have realized that by now. After all…" His other hand began to gently stroke Robin's wet aching boyhood once more; "You're such a **clever boy**…"_

_Despite the threat, and despite the fact that Slade was little short of throttling him, Robin arched his back at the feeling of Slade's touch once more in that one place. His most precious, beautiful, sensitive piece of anatomy, being stroked so lovingly by that strong hand; belonging to the man he…_

_Loved. Hated. Feared._

_Slade laughed nastily._

"_You're such a little slut," he murmured maliciously. "Pain pleasures you, simply because **I** administer it. You're nothing but a whore, Robin; **my** whore. Not even a worthy apprentice, for all you desire from me now is to teach you secrets between the sheets, not secrets of combat and technology. You should be ashamed of yourself, but you aren't. You can't be, because you are broken. I have broken you, dear Robin, and you are now not even your own. You are **mine**, and **I** made you."_

_His grip tightening, the wonderful feeling suddenly intensifying… Robin started to cry, his tears mingling with the rain pouring down his face. Slade laughed again, lowering his head and allowing his grip on Robin's slim neck to slacken, sliding his hand down over Robin's wet shirt, down to his stomach. The boy was sitting now, slumped against the marble pedestal elevating that great stone Batman. Slade's warm mouth met its mark again and Robin almost immediately spread his legs very wide – almost out of habit._

_And almost immediately his heart-rate soared off the chart as Slade's tongue got to work; he closed his eyes, hypnotized by the sparking white light of desire patching across the blackness of his mind, matching the lightning that tore the sky beyond. Right away he began to writhe and pant and squirm and moan and scream, his body overriding the warning Slade just told him…_

_He wanted so badly to grab at Slade's wet hair again, feel the short wet spikes between his fingers; he wanted to tug at it, run his fingers wildly through it, force himself deeper and hold the man there… _

_But he did not dare._

_Because Slade was right. About everything. He **was** becoming something that was somewhat… **slutty**; something that begged and cried for its master's attention; that craved his touch. When had he become so hopelessly addicted to his touch? When had his protests started sounding so false and weak, even to his own ears? When would it end? What more could Slade possibly do to him, regardless of whether he enjoyed it or not?_

_What was Slade trying to do to him? What was he **truly** trying to make him?_

_And was he willing to become it? For his friends? For Slade? **For himself?**_

_Nearing his peak, his eyes fluttered open, his vision hazed by heat and pleasure and pounding rain. He saw, and he frowned; and squinted and cocked his head and blinked and frowned all over again. _

_Those statues; those wet shining granite likenesses of his dead friends… well, they should have had their backs to him, for a start. But they didn't. Instead they all faced the Batman statue, and they were grouped more closely together, and they…_

…_were somehow… **alive**…_

_They were still stone, but they moved with the ease of real skin and muscles, and they were clustered together like a group of bitchy cheerleaders, all watching him and seeming to whisper about him._

_(He's such a slut…)_

_(Oh, look at the little bitch moaning… God, he's about ready to spurt already…)_

_(I cannot believe that he has sunk this low, even for **us**…)_

_(Even if this started because of us, it's not about us anymore…)_

_He froze, the overwhelming warm pleasure washing over him seeming to freeze. His brain tried desperately to comprehend the actuality of hearing voices of people he'd thought… no… **known** to be dead for quite some time. _

_**Dead**, deceased, kaput, very very not alive. _

_Hearing their antagonizing statements, the words piercing his tongue and yet being so hollow and uncaring… nearly mocking, pulled the plug and the sexual heat and ecstasy drained from the realization that they knew. _

_**They knew!** _

_In the back of his mind, whenever Slade touched him, whenever he responded, he had always been secure in knowing that they would never see him like that. They would never know the depraved truth of his apprenticeship. In the back of his mind Robin also believed that as long as they never knew what he had become, as long as their memory of him remained that untainted poster, he could always return. His mind never did figure the logistics on how to return, but he knew the option was always there if only he could reach it. _

_That was the only thing that gave him comfort at night. During the day, the grueling training kept his twisted sexual encounters from bothering him. The activity forced all his attention on the task of not getting his head knocked off. But on nights when he wasn't servicing Slade, when he was left to stew in his bubbling emotions of self hatred, anger, disgust, and also lust; that was when his last hope helped dispel his depression. Even if he finally admitted to what he had become, his friends never would need to know. He would always have a home, a family, a place where people trusted and accepted him. As long as they never knew, he could survive._

_He could remember. _

_But no longer. That promise had been wrenched away from him when those cold granite eyes saw him, saw what he had been reduced to._

_(No! NO! Don't talk about me like that! This is for **you!** I'm doing this for… can't you **see** that this is…? Oh god, don't see me like this! Don't see what I've… what he's turned me into! Oh, **please**…)_

_Slade thrust him deeper, wrapping his strong tongue firmly around it-_

_Robin leaned his head back and moaned purely reflexively. _

_They shifted and folded their stone arms and rolled their stone eyes in disgust. Then Beast Boy nudged Cyborg and began to giggle. Cyborg snorted with laughter. Next to him, Starfire began to giggle too, one hand delicately covering her mouth. For a few moments they three laughed harder and harder; finally, Raven pulled down her stone hood and joined them, and their laughter rang long and hard across the empty city._

_The laughter of long-dead gods._

_Godless gods._

_Tears streaming down his already-wet face, Robin began to struggle, hooking one leg up, forcing the wet muddy sole of his right boot against Slade's shoulder in an attempt to push him away. Slade immediately bit into him and Robin made a sound halfway between a cry and a mewl; pain and pleasure. It had not been hard enough to really hurt him, but just enough to let him know that if he pushed any more, he might be short of something rather important._

_Not to mention in a lot of pain._

_His stone-cast friends laughed harder, clutching at each other mirthfully as they collapsed and quivering with effort of such hysterical convulsions; as though it hurt them to laugh, even though they were made from stone. _

_He could not bear for them to see him this way. For them to laugh at what he had become. At how low he had sunk._

_For them to **laugh**, period._

_He gave shuddering gasp as Slade brought him to a sudden climax, white light obscuring his vision for a few seconds. He shook his head to clear it, shaking from the cold and the rain and from the sudden weakness that had cascaded through him alongside the pleasure._

_They were laughing no longer. Watching him – their strong, smart, perfect leader – spurting so floodingly into the villainous mastermind's ready mouth; seeing him moan at the sensation, almost pass out from it…_

_It made it real. And it subdued them. Robin wouldn't be coming back._

_Slade withdrew and knelt back, spitting his mouthful off to the side. Even in a **dream**, he would not swallow. He rubbed his hair out of his face and then reached for Robin again, this time with more heinous intentions…_

_Robin recoiled, suddenly and wetly scrabbled from his reach. He got to his knees and burst forwards, tugging his shorts and pants up – with difficulty, as they were soaked and clingy – as he did so. He staggered, turning, stepping backwards; his gaze fixated on those statues. They seemed to be still once more, but their accusing gazes were most certainly on him, and him alone. _

_I can never go back…_

_He glanced at Slade, nervously fastening his belt again as he did so. The older man simply sat there at the base of the marble Batman statue, one knee raised, his hand draped over it. Robin could see his one eye glittering in amazing, dream-like detail, yet see very little else…_

_Another flash of lightning illuminated him once more, and for the first time Robin was truly able to see the man's face. Reality shifted onto its other foot, and a shadow covered Robin's mind as the lightning just suddenly got _too_ bright. _

_It was a dream, of course, but…_

_He could not deny what he saw. Blood turned to useless cold sludge in his veins as he stared, disbelief plastered liberally over his face. Him; simply an older version of himself. The villain was dark-haired – it was, of course, plastered to his head by the rain – with some of it completely covering where his right eye should be, mirroring his two-tone mask. His mirror wore a malicious grin that he couldn't ever _hope_ to mimic. But otherwise… Robin could see himself reflected in this dream-manifestation of his master's true appearance. He could see himself in places that were not even on the surface._

_Places that he didn't want to be._

_Suddenly terrified, Robin turned on his heel and ran. Still the statues gazed after him in disgust._

_He did not dare to look at the Batman one._

_As far as he could tell, Slade – his doppelganger – made no effort to follow him._

_**Run all you like. Because no matter where you go… every step brings you closer to me…**_

_It echoed through his head like an insane prophetic mantra. An undeniable omen. And he ran and ran and ran and ran and ran…_

_He ran into the storm and cried for help from the gods that warred among the clouds. He wept for his friends, he wept for what he had become, and he wept for the earth itself. And his tears fell as rain on the streets and were washed away like meaningless words from a lover who no longer loved. A writer who no longer wrote. A singer who no longer sang._

_A powerless, godless god. A brother no longer in arms._

_Boy Wonder._

_Apprentice._

_**Whore**._

_He eventually found himself standing atop a broken skyscraper, elevated high above the broken city, close to the gods, kissing the sky with bruised lips… Lightning tore the sky again, thunder sweeping across the entire city in an awesome wall of power and sound. Still the rain lashed down – tears of broken gods._

_(Don't stop crying. Share my pain. Feel it for me. **Cry** for me…)_

"_Will you not just accept all of this, Robin?" came a voice from behind him. Cold, ruthless, off-hand, and familiar. _

_Robin ignored him, gazing furiously out over the city that had once been his to protect. His eyes burned, cooled a little by the icy rain, and the salt from his tears._

_Slade's arms wrapped around his shoulders. Stiffening, Robin felt his master's face touch the back of his neck, and realized that he had his mask back on again._

_He tried to squirm free but Slade wouldn't let him go; just effortlessly held him still._

"_Let go!" Robin snapped. "I don't want to play anymore!"_

"_Dear Robin," Slade purred in his ear, "we never **were** playing…"_

"_THEY'RE DEAD!" Robin screamed. "You can't threaten me anymore! Let me go **now!**"_

_Slade laughed softly._

"_Robin, I no longer **need** to threaten you," he whispered. "You are mine now."_

"_I am **not** yours. I was **never** yours. And I never **will** be yours."_

_Again Slade laughed._

"_Is that so?" He released the boy and pushed him forwards a few steps. "Fine then. Off you go. Take your life back. Become something without your friends. Without Batman. Without **me**."_

_Robin turned to him, angry tears streaming freely down his face._

"_I **can't!**" He yelled brokenly. "You've taken **everything!**"_

"_I took nothing from you, Robin. Anything of yours that I have had has been given to me by you."_

_Robin laughed bitterly. It was harsh, sounding more like raw anguish than any form of mirth._

"_What, my freedom? My virginity? My **sanity?**"_

_Slade nodded and Robin stared at him with his mouth open._

"_Yes. The day you swore your loyalty to me – to protect your friends – you gave everything to me. You gave **yourself** to me. And since you are mine, I am free to take what I wish from you, and it is still classed as a gift from you, dear apprentice. So yes, even your virginity; I did not even class that first night as "rape". By promising to serve me, you had promised to do… well, exactly that. **Serve** me. **Whatever** my needs are."_

"_But you **never** said that you-"_

"_Had I any reason to?" Slade interrupted softly. Lethally. "Did I **need** to? The point was that you would do anything I told you out of fear for your friends' lives. I had no reason to explain anything to you, boy; there was no purpose for it. A pity nobody ever reads the small print until there's no going back, hmm?"_

"_They're dead now," Robin said quietly, his shaking fists clenching so tightly they ached. "They're dead, and you can't hurt them. You can't threaten me. You have **no power** over me, Slade."_

_Slade raised his eyebrows under his mask, amused._

"_So you know what?" Robin went on furiously. "You can just go fuck yourself!"_

_He stormed past the older man, making for the other side of the roof. However, Slade grasped his thin wrist as he passed, whipping him around._

"_My honest opinion?" He murmured smoothly, his strong arms encircling Robin's slim waist. "I'd rather fuck **you**…"_

_He threw the boy to the hard surface of the flat roof as he began to struggle. Robin landed sprawling on his back, cracking his head against the wet surface of the roof. His vision swimming and his skull screaming, he struggled to sit up, but suddenly Slade's weight was against his pelvis and he felt his master's hands go against his shoulders, pushing him back down. Again he began to writhe beneath the older man's substantial weight, but Slade would not let him up, simply wriggling into a more comfortable position – straddling the boy's hips._

"_No!" Robin wailed, scratching futilely at him. "I don't want to! Not again!"_

"_Of course you do," Slade purred, pulling the Boy Wonder's wet cape off over his head. _

"_I SAID **NO!**" Robin screamed angrily, even as Slade began to unbutton the yellow fastenings of his wet crimson shirt. "I don't want-"_

_His words were suddenly muffled as Slade tugged his shirt over his head. For a few seconds he held it there, smiling at the image; his apprentice trapped on the wet ground, soaked through, hardening even as he screamed that this wasn't what he wanted – Slade could feel him growing against his own leather-clad crotch – with his shirt over his head, covering up his stupid protesting mouth. His chest shone with the wetness, his skin pale and perfect, his ribcage slightly visible beneath the surface of it. Letting go of the shirt, Slade's large hands slid down onto the boy's slim torso, his fingers running along the smooth contour of his collar bone and rubbing circles within the clavicle of it. Then his cold wet fingers came to the boy's nipples, becoming acquainted with them all over again – this time through touch instead of taste._

_Robin reached up and wriggled the shirt off himself, arching against Slade's touch. Slade smiled at how easily he had been overpowered yet again. He was a teenaged boy; he was ruled by his hormones, by his body. His reactions were impossibly uncontrollable, and Slade simply took advantage of that time and time again. And why not? Robin might consistently and stubbornly deny it, but this was what he wanted. The Titans had died a long time ago, even though Robin seemed not to have aged. Well, it was a **dream**; but even so, they had died years ago, and still he had made no effort to leave Slade's forced employ. Day after day he had trained with him, learning to steal and sneak and fight and kill; and night after night he had come to his master's bed for his reward._

_For his assurance that **someone** loved him. That **someone** needed him and craved him and sought pleasure from him._

_It was an existence that was perhaps an acquired taste; and Robin had grown very acquired to it indeed. _

_He pulled off his gloves himself as Slade unbuckled his belt and tugged off his boots and then peeled away his sodden pants and torn shorts and threw them aside, leaving him sprawled naked but for his mask on the roof of the broken building, rain pounding down mercilessly upon him. Robin squirmed in anticipation as Slade slowly and deliberately began to shed his own clothes, stripping away layer after layer of leather and spandex and metal with agonizing tardiness. The Boy Wonder whined with desperation and Slade laughed softly and petted him soothingly._

"_Patience, my bird," he whispered. "Patience…"_

_He knelt loomingly over him, his strong hands on the roof at either side of Robin's head, clad only in his sodden shorts – black too – and with his black and copper mask still in place. Robin writhed underneath him as he arched downwards, pressing their wet chests and somewhat-bigger crotches together. Robin's excited boyhood met with soaked cotton and he squealed, parting his legs and wrapping them around Slade's hips, hooking one heel over the other._

"_Patience…" Slade whispered again, reaching back and unhooking him. Robin mewled pathetically once again and clawed desperately for him._

"_Wait just one more minute, my dear apprentice," Slade murmured, his voice taking on a song-like lilt as he knelt back again and began to peel off his clinging shorts. "Just one minute more…"_

_He kicked them off and closed in on his wet, naked little apprentice once again; he lifted his hips, his fingers brushing and teasing his entrance, and Robin obediently spread his legs to allow him greater access. Without so much as even uttering a questioning "Ready?" the villain thrust himself all the way in, as deep as he could._

_Robin convulsed and writhed and **screamed**, arching his back and throwing his aching head back against the hard roof; within him, his protesting muscles clung to Slade as the man began to build up a rhythm-_

_Inoutinoutinout…_

_A rhythm like the train that waits to take the present to the future. Robin could feel the pace start to build; heard the chug sound on his panting breaths and felt the furnace burn in his chest and send glittering sparks through his ecstasy-stunned nerves._

_A one way ticket. _

_Slade leaned down and Robin immediately wrapped himself around his master again, tiny nails finding and digging into his broad wet back, legs locking up around the man's larger form. He held his apprentice's hips, grinding himself into him with a blinding intensity, sending a white-hot flaming sensation ripping through them both. It started in their crotches; ended in their minds. It was incomprehensible. All they could do was strive to fulfill it, Slade by driving himself accordingly and repeatedly and fantastically into the boy; Robin by meeting those condemnations, scratching and drawing blood from his master's flesh in his excitement._

_It was all they could do._

_And when Slade exploded into him – moaning with it in the way that Robin loved so – he screamed, his cry of pleasure and burning pain and discomfort tearing the sky like the lightning raging above._

_And when – still within him – Slade took his boyhood in his hand and began to pump furiously, teasing him to the edge of his **own** explosion… When he shoved him **off** the edge without so much as a word of warning… Plummeting him into the abyss… When he sent him screaming all over again as though he was truly insane…_

_Robin's mind clouded with white all over again and he lay limp on the roof – the one-time beautiful poster boy of justice – gazing up at the torn, wounded heavens._

_The blood and tears of dead gods still raining down to bruised earth._

_Godless gods._

_His mind. His eyes. His dreams. His **soul**._

_Empty as the sky._

* * *

Some interesting ideas and themes, no? Some of it probably got a little repetitive, I admit. That "poster boy" thing is, admittedly, swiped from Narroch06's one-shot _Abyss_ – she only mentioned it once – but I love it and went nuts with it here. Plus that "abyss" thing right at the very end is another reference to the fic… go read it! It's really tiny, it'll only take you two minutes. It does really fit rather well into this storyline we're doing here, even though it's technically completely unrelated. The "god" theme was mine; OTT, I know, but that's what happens when you're forced to read the truly terrible _The God of Small Things_ for AS English… It's full of stupid themes and ideas about gods, which aren't really gods, but personifications of… ah, never mind. I hate it. End.

I'm sure you've all been there…

Well, Narroch06 and I had much fun here; no telling what's gonna come next! Be sure to tell us what you think! Don't run off screaming the way Quinn and His Quill did…

KEEP WRITING IN TO CARTOON NETWORK! I'M GONNA SEND IN ANOTHER LETTER! DAMN THEM ALL IF THEY THINK THEY'RE GONNA BUMP OFF **OUR** TEEN TITANS THAT EASY! Admittedly here in Britain we're still on Season Four, but still…

DEATH TO ALL!

Phoenix Skyborne kindly put the mailing address on the review page if anyone needs it; it's on her review for Chapter 7…


	9. Slade's Blade

First of all, Narroch06 and I wish to clear up any misconceptions you might have had about _Small Print_ being finished.

_It isn't_.

We just haven't updated in a while. It happens.

On the contrary, there should be at least two or three more chapters after this one before we wrap it up completely.

And we still aren't totally sure where we're going with it. Don't forget, _Small Print_ was originally a one-shot. Rocky Wolf encouraged me to continue with it; Narroch06 saved it from its impending doom had I continued with it alone.

But it doesn't, in all fairness – unlike Setsuna Mudo's wonderful _The Bird and His Cage_ – really have an actual _storyline_.

It ain't over until we _say_ it is, kids.

And this chapter was written mostly by Narroch06; I personally love her title. It might seem quite a simple one, but it's got a real deep meaning in there. I love it…

Enjoy the NEXT CHAPTER…

Slade's Blade

Time had stubbornly cemented its feet to the floor, and his ass to the chair. Waiting for a sign of life from his comatose apprentice was taking an abnormally long time; it was also extremely boring. He was not a patient person at the best of times, not when it came to things like _this_. If it was another of his plans, he could bide his time as well – if not _better_ – than the rest of them, but even so… Tedious seconds slithered by as he sat watching Robin. He could be doing other things; planning, training, plotting his trademark evil plans to unleash havoc upon the city. General bad guy things. More _important_ things.

The things _they_ would expect from him.

And yet, he felt compelled to stay by Robin's side. Just watching his thin chest rise and fall; his hypnotically shallow breathing the only thing signifying that he was alive. He was resting in Slade's bed, crimson sheets above and below him; his bandaged arms lying by his sides. Slade had not bothered to dress him again after the ordeal the other night; all he wore over his bruised, sweaty, naked form was an over-sized white shirt, half-buttoned, that his master he dressed him in. It could have been he was simply sleeping. Except for the blue tinge coloring his lips despite the heat of the room, the way the rest of his countenance was thin, translucent and brittle as powdered wood. The ashen figure laid a bleached inverted shadow on the bed, making even the paper-thin sheets seem bulky and cumbersome against his delicate flesh.

It was more like he was dead. Sleeping death.

Snow White and her enchanted apple.

Only that small slow steady rise and fall reminded him that Robin was not a corpse.

The thought irritated Slade. Robin wasn't like this. Robin was angry, feisty, defiant, fit and supple – the very icon of liveliness. He wasn't supposed to be like this. He shouldn't quiet, lying still, affected by a beating. It was _wrong_ for him to be this way. It was that spark that he loved about Robin; that no matter how far he pushed him, he would always managed to push back.

Though, in hindsight, he loved breaking that spark of resistance even _more_.

His punishment had been justly deserved, and Slade had doled it out with a feverish excitement, a sort of frenzied ego-driven impulse to truly dominate. To hold him down and make him scream. Receiving overwhelming waves of heady pleasure, when Robin only felt horrible rending agony. The beautiful carnal juxtaposition made it all the more satisfying.

It was as if he had been waiting for a chance to prove his control over Robin. He should have stopped him – grabbed hold of him – the instant he had slithered out of bed. He should have held him as he struggled. Or, if he had allowed him get that far, he should have ripped the controller out of his hands the moment he plucked it from his discarded suit. But for some unexplainable reason, he had waited. He had wanted to see how far Robin would take his little act of defiance… just so _he_ could see how far he could take his penalty.

He knew that the rebellion had to be shattered eventually, so he had just given Robin a little nudge in that direction. Opening a small window of opportunity to get him started, and then slamming it down on his encroaching fingers.

The retribution was sweet and fulfilling in the act, but now Slade was wondering if he had perhaps gone too far.

Reality is sanity, yet sanity could be so easily affected by the milieu that it was almost laughable. All he needed was a truly terrifying scene, a hope destroyed, a whole lot of blood and he was well on his way to twisting Robin's brain into a neat little pretzel of turmoil. Throw in a bit of pain here and there, and he just might make him scream as well.

Or pass out.

Or just cease to be.

But a _dead_ apprentice is just as useless as a disobedient one. He did not want to _kill_ his prize. He simply desired for him to acknowledge who the _real_ master was. He did not regret what he had done to the boy. He would do it all over again if he had to, yet Robin's current condition made him doubt…

Not _concern…_

Not anything that would make _him_ to blame. He had no desire to go on a guilt trip; _he_ was the one in control, and he refused to commiserate with Robin's pathetic state.

He had deserved everything he got.

But Robin should have been up and annoying him with his whining and protesting and muttering swear-words under his breath at him a long time ago. None of the physical damage he had received was permanent.

It was Robin's lack of response that bothered him. But more so it was his _own_ response to the situation. He was beginning to see a suspicious change in himself. In the beginning he had not blackmailed Robin to be his little sex slave. He had done it because there was great potential in the boy that he was sure he could unlock. He could practically see his ambitions reflected in Robin. It was a very logical, reasonable action – steal Robin to make him an apprentice. To teach him the savage joy of what he could become. There had been no ulterior sexual motive behind it.

But once he had caged the bird he began to notice things. Like how his black leather uniform was so _tight._ The way his body moved when they fought; the way his slim, supple muscles flowed like liquid beneath the surface of his skin. He was not big and bulky; he was little and lithe and beautiful. Slade had grown to love the delicious moan he always got whenever he put his little bird in a headlock. Robin unwittingly fueled his growing sexual libido until Slade had abruptly decided to just give into his twisted desires. It was on a whim. It was offhand, almost careless, just fulfilling one of his body's needs. Like eating or breathing. He thought one time would be enough to keep him from being distracted during their sparring matches.

For once, Slade was wrong.

Plunging himself into that tight hot little ass felt _so_ good. But it was the forced submission of the once-brave leader that really clinched it.

He realized very quickly that sex was a weapon. Oh yes, a very powerful weapon; one that left wounds not easily healed with a Band-Aid and a kiss from mommy. Slade wondered how he could have missed such a thing.

And so he continued using that new realization to his advantage, amazed at how effective it was; how in no time at all, _Robin_ was the one begging and spurting for _him_. How his apprentice was succumbing so easily to his authority when it came to sex. He may have kicked and screamed and claimed how much he hated Slade, but that was what Slade loved so about the whole thing. That _Robin_ could lie all too easily; his _body_ had more of a struggle. Action speaks louder than words, and Robin's body language was simply shouting down his denial. Robin was nonverbally screaming loud and clear about what desires he really wanted to yield to.

And who would administer those desires.

But this wonderfully effective weapon had a double blade.

It was because of this that he had not let Robin on any missions outside of the building.

It was because of this that he had let Robin get the controller in the first place.

It was because of this that he was still sitting in the chair watching like a hawk for any twitches in Robin's pale face.

He did not like the idea that it was his sexual drive controlling the situation instead of _him_. But without the daily training to keep his mind off of it, reminding him what he had _really_ kidnapped Robin for, his mind supplied a rather tasteless reason instead;

_Sex._

He had taken Robin to be his apprentice.

_Sex._

He had taken Robin to teach him to how to fight, hurt, and kill.

**_Sex. _**

He had taken Robin to unlock his potential, to nurture an heir to his future empire.

_You took Robin so you could fuck his little brains out…_

Slade sighed; it seemed that his cock was along for the ride whether he wanted it or not. But that wouldn't stop him from reminding both Robin and himself _why_ he had blackmailed the Boy Wonder in the first place. Possibly if the room wasn't so hot he would be able to think clearly. Perhaps if the room didn't stink so much. If it didn't smell like… like…

Comprehension dawned on Slade yet again and the realization was so obvious that he could almost feel the sun on him.

The room reeked of disinfectant, sponged-up sweat, and blood. It smelled of sex. And if it was the brutality of a sexual act that had put Robin _into_ a coma, then placing him in the same bed where he had been so intimately involved was _not_ a good idea. Even if he had enjoyed it at the time, the lingering aftertaste of that last beating would override any pleasant memories the boy might still inadvertedly cling to. Sex smelled like sex, whether it was a tender lover's embrace, or a traumatic brutal rape. Familiarity sat around the room like dust, as the smell both in physical scent and memory; it permeated every single pore, every aspect of the room. Wiping away a memory was not as easy as wiping up a pool of blood. Robin's psyche was obviously hiding from a reality he didn't want to accept.

In layman terms, the _room_ was the problem.

The solution: remove Robin from the room.

Finally having something constructive to do, Slade immediately went into action. He rose from his chair and went to the bed quietly; he slipped his strong arms under the boy's shoulders and knees, folding him into a cradling position, and then straightened up with his load. Robin was lighter than he should have been, and totally limp in his grip. Slade stood for a minute, balking with indecision. Then he remembered something that someone might have told him, or perhaps he had read it somewhere… "A bath washes away all the unpleasant things; it is soul-washing…"

…and he knew his destination…

Slade laid Robin up against a corner in the shower and focused a faucet on his crookedly propped-up form. He stood back and simply waited for the water to revive Robin. The tiny droplets just soaked him, ricocheting off and then flowed down the drain. The steady drumming pressure had no effect on the unconsciousness boy – if anything it made him look _more_ helpless, water roaming anywhere it pleased, and he wasn't even able to wipe it away from his eyes.

Slade sighed; nursing Robin back to health was not his style – in fact, nursing _anything_ was going completely against his dark sadistic nature. However, if it would help his sorry excuse for an apprentice snap out of his pathetic funk, he would do anything once…

He leaned down and, with a conveniently-placed wash cloth, began to wipe and rub at any exposed skin; meanwhile, the warm water poured rhythmically down, covering both of them in a humid sheet of man-made rain. He pulled Robin's shirt off with as much gentleness as he thought he could stomach, and began to wipe at his naked chest.

Ignoring the perverse pride in seeing his torso adorned with large splotches of colorful blue and purple; thin angry red welts running across the entire scope. The boy looked even more beautiful when painted with pain, silent reminders of who had the power in their strange relationship. Slade ignored the bruises, the abrasions, the lacerations, and almost begrudgingly focused on what he could fix.

Though Robin had been cleaned up so that bandages and much-needed first aid could be applied, it hadn't been done very thoroughly. There was dried blood trailing down his arms; smeared-in dark crimson tracks around his thighs and calves; splattered about his ankles. It was crusted in his fingernails; globs of the hemoglobin were glued in his hair; and he had even gotten some on his neck somehow. Slade began to methodically sponge away all the blood stains, lulling himself into a light trance with the ministration.

So he was slightly taken aback when his saw Robin's hand twitch. He peered up into Robin's streaming face and saw tiny tremors running across his expression; and although his eyes were covered by a mask, Slade guessed that they were fluttering around as well.

_He's dreaming…_

He leaned back on his haunches and watched as Robin's dream manifested itself on his wet naked body, amused by the way he chose to signify that he was in fact not a vegetable.

The spasmodic movements now extended to his legs, and his face was tightened with a look of sleep-diluted concentration. Slade realized that he must be running. Running away…

_Probably from **me**, _he thought laughingly to himself. As soon as that crossed his mind, Robin's movement subsided and for a moment there was no motion except the ceaseless drumming of water. Then Robin breathed out heavily, and a soft sound, nearly inaudible, was carried along on it.

He only noticed it because he was focusing so intently on Robin's face.

"_Sla_…"

Immediately following the tiny utterance of his master's name, his hands got a mind of their own and suddenly went to his torso and then slid mindfully downwards, landing at his crotch. Slade stared, fascinated, as Robin folded his hands around the sensitive piece of anatomy and began to slowly caress himself in his sleep.

He breathed out again, forming his name more distinctly;

"_Slade_…"

While Slade was pleasantly surprised by Robin's unconscious proclamation of love for him, the irony of the situation struck him as extremely funny; he was having a wet dream while in a wet shower with the one he was dreaming about. He would have sat back and just started laughing if not for the sudden unwelcome twitch in his _own_ crotch.

"Damn you, you little wretch…" he murmured to his self-loving apprentice. He reached forward; covering Robin's fumbling hands with his own larger ones.

"Here… let me _help_ you with that..."

He began to move both pairs of hands up and down, his steady rhythm much more effective than Robin's uncoordinated sleep-hindered touch. A small whine issued from the boy's throat with the added pressure, and Slade took it as encouragement to move a little faster. After a few minutes of assisted thrusting, he glanced at Robin's face which was still angled down toward the tiled floor of the shower, and saw that his visage had taken on such a completely dejected, desolate look that he stopped moving his hands. He didn't know what was going on inside Robin's head, but he knew a look of utter devastation when he saw it, and knew that somewhere else, within his own mind, Robin was suffering because of his sexual attachment.

That suddenly put everything in perspective. Here was a full grown man – a feared, hated, cruel man – sitting in a shower helping a sixteen year old ex-superhero masturbate in his sleep. His weak mollycoddling behavior was disgusting; a disgrace to himself. He realized all over again that the sexual attraction went both ways and it was hurting _him_ too, though in a very different fashion. He shoved Robin away and yanked his hands off in revulsion. He did nothing to stop the boy from continuing with the momentum and fall sideways, his head cracking onto the floor with a sickening sound.

Robin's head jerked up blearily from the impact and he looked dazedly around; uttering a lethargic "_Muh?" _upon his waking.

"If only I had known you simply needed a good smack upside the head to wake you…"

Robin blinked and shook his wet aching head, following the direction of Slade's voice; his master was now sitting moodily against the wall with his arms draped across his propped-up knees. The Boy Wonder absorbed the scene for only a second before the recollection hit him so hard it was if someone really had struck another blow to the back of his head. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open into a silent scream, sheer terror cementing his features into an inaudible wail of horror. He scrabbled back away from Slade, using his elbows to pull himself farther.

"_Don't touch me!"_ He whispered frantically upon finding himself backed up against another wall. Then he whispered softly again, though it seemed more like he was talking to himself than to any appreciative audience;

"_I don't want them to see me… please don't make them leave…"_ He slowly hung his head, rocking it dazedly from side to side as he repeated the sentence to himself; as though it had become stuck on his tongue.

"_Don't make them leave… please don't make them leave…"_

His shoulders were shaking from barely-suppressed sobs as his plea became quieter and quieter until it was just a slow mumble manipulating his mouth.

Slade just sat and allowed Robin to continue to mutter woefully to himself, while the water still rained warmth on both of them. After too long of hearing his dismal mantra he noticed every now and then there was a subtle change in Robin's speech;

"_Don't make them leave… please don't make them leave…"_

A shiver. A tiny whine.

"…_don't leave me…"_

And Slade knew that last comment was aimed at _him_.

_There we go in circles again… we need each other, but in the end it is destroying the very **reason** for his being here… _

Slade stood up and purposefully sauntered over to the trembling boy, who was trying desperately to press himself into the wall at his approach. He gripped a large handful of his dripping hair, shining jet black, and ruthlessly yanked him up to his feet, whipping him away from the wall, pulling so hard that he felt he might inadvertently scalp him with any extra pressure.

"I believe it is about time for a reality check…" he growled lowly in Robin's ear. He continued to hold his prize by his hair as he squirmed and cried. "Now, now… hold still or I might _take your eye out_…"

Flipping out a razor sharp knife from one of the leather pouches on his utility belt, he deftly sliced through Robin's captured hair. The boy slumped heavily to the floor the instant the blade freed him from Slade's grip, the rest of his wet hair flopping in a jagged diagonal fringe over his right eye. Seconds later the sliced locks of ebony hair fluttered down around him and Robin looked at them with unfocused masked eyes. Slade smiled behind his mask, pleased with Robin's new look as the boy looked up at him in bewilderment.

His black hair now covered his right eye completely, hacked unevenly into that asymmetric style.

Like father; like son.

He suddenly felt inspired and extended a foot, nudging Robin onto his back on the wet floor of the shower. Approaching him, he stepped one leg over Robin's sprawled form, straddling his torso. He kneeled down, placing his knees on Robin's arms, effectively pinning him down while still having his own arms free to move about. Robin writhed and moaned in agony as Slade's weight crushed his arms, but his master was too occupied with his knife to notice the boy's complaints.

Slade let the edge trace lightly over Robin's firm skin; feathery steel kisses. Then he let the blade bite into his flesh, pressing it in deeply. A knife into half-melted chocolate. He smiled once again at Robin's scream, a hoarse surprised sound tempered with that delectable wail of pain as it echoed around the tiled room. Crimson liquid flooded to the surface, staining the edge of his precious knife, but he continued carving a deep trench into his apprentice's chest, severing bits of taut muscle here and there, relishing the agonized reaction he got when he sliced through a brightly blooming bruise. At the scarlet flower that blossomed as he broke that bruise. Robin's cries were once again music to him; whether they were ones of pleasure or passion or pain. His pitiful writhes and jolts underneath him, triggered by the agony which _he_ was inflicting upon that tiny weak body… they inflamed him, made him want to flip the boy over and fuck him hard and fast once again.

But he didn't. Now was not the time.

Not _now_.

He finally finished and leaned back to admire his bleeding work. A sharp serpentine "S" now adorned Robin's once unscarred chest.

"Hopefully that will help you remember why you are here…"

He looked down at the boy, suddenly prouder of him than ever before.

"Well, don't _you_ look _handsome_…" It was mocking, but even so Slade put his hand to Robin's lips to quieten him; the boy was sobbing in pain. "_Ssh_ now…"

Robin shook his head free, groaning. Blood flowed to the surface of his new stylized wound, only to be washed away immediately by the water still pounding down. The hot water stung and made him want to scream, but he only bit his lip and suppressed his sobs as he looked up at his cruel bastard of a master.

"Come now," Slade crooned. "It can't be _that_ bad…" He ran one leather-gloved finger along the contour of the bloody "S" and Robin broke with more sobs of agony. Irritated, Slade wiped his bloody fingers off on Robin's face, digging them cruelly into his wet skin.

Robin shook his head free again, a slight spark of that defiance that Slade so loved still burning. He opened his masked eyes slightly, squinting against the hot rain still pounding to the wet floor, and there was pure hatred flaming behind the simple black and white.

_Welcome back, Robin. Where have you been all this time? **This** is the Robin I love; the defiant, strong, arrogant boy you were before I destroyed you; not this weak pathetic mewling little…_

And he had a sadistic, intimate satisfaction that now needed to be quelled. He loved Robin's defiance and arrogance because it was all that much more fun to destroy. Seeing that smug, righteous smile sliding off his handsome face even as he watched.

Come to think of it, he didn't think it would amuse him nearly so much if Robin wasn't nice-looking. It was incredibly shallow, but Robin's looks were partly what had attracted him. His fighting ability; his mind; and that wonderful, lithe, sleek, hot little body. A teenaged Sherlock Holmes with moves – and looks – that could kill.

Leaning back, he trailed the edge of the bloody knife lightly down Robin's stomach, over his navel, right down to his-

Robin let out a startled, terrified shriek of pain and fright as Slade actually let the blade bite a little way into his most sensitive and precious bit of anatomy. His whole body bucked and Slade rubbed the flat side of the cold wet blade against his boyhood.

"Be careful," he whispered, enjoying the game very much. "You wouldn't want it to go the same way as your hair…"

Fresh broken sobs choked from the boy as he squeezed his eyes shut, dread and pain and anger – but above all _fear – _etched onto his handsome, half-obscured face.

Slade gently stroked the deadly sharp weapon against him, knowing himself that he would never _really_ do that to the boy. There was cruelty and then there was _cruelty_.

And above all, he was a fellow male, despite however much he sometimes felt Robin perhaps _deserved_ such a punishment. No, he wouldn't; but it was amusing to tease him even so. To watch his chest heaving in quick gasps of terror; to watch his whole body go rigid in fear of moving.

Slade's blade was, after all, very sharp indeed.

He sat there a few moments more, but when Robin simply continued to cry and quiver he sighed in disgust and got off him, striding away.

"Don't leave me!" Robin screamed after him even after that torment, rolling onto his stomach and writhing in agony, his face and torso smeared and bloody. "Please don't leave me here…"

He made a strangled sound halfway between a cough and a gasp and his head flopped back to the wet floor, his eyes closing. His breathing was very taxed, as though he was having difficulty with it, and Slade looked back at him.

The thing he felt was nothing like pity or love; it was… annoyance at _himself_.

He had just made his apprentice's condition _worse_.

And the _last_ thing he wanted was the boy bleeding to death in the showers.

He did not panic, but his _pace_ was as he scooped Robin up and quickly made his way back to the room. His previous conceptions about the room were forgotten as he laid the drenched boy back onto the crimson sheets. He quickly fetched a towel and crumpled it into a ball, placing it over the "S" to soak up the blood flow. Flicking the sheets back over Robin's wet lower body, Slade sat on the edge of the bed and held the towel to the Boy Wonder's chest in a bid now to save him.

It had been a very stupid thing to do.

But even so…

He pulled back the towel a little to look at the "S" again.

And he smiled.

They would _never_ take him back now.

Not now that he was marked like this.

Forever marked as _his_.

* * *

And that ISN'T the END! Ok? Ok.

It isn't finished until we put THE END at the end of it.

Next chapter up whenever Narroch06 and I write it, send it back and forth several times, giggle at how much of a bastard Slade is…

Oh, the email conversations…

Keep it real, hang tight, etc…

- RobinRocks, the Boy-love Wonder (again, courtesy of the since-vacated Quinn and His Quill…) x


	10. Black and White

Woo! We're back! Finally…

Yeah, I know it took a while, but here we are! This chapter took a while to do, and then I got suspended from the site for five days because my song-fic RobinxRaven one-shot to Shakira's _Underneath Your Clothes_ was deleted (see angry author note preceding chapter 7 of _Black Magic_ for full details of my plight) and _then_ I went to NYC for four days and _then_ the sire wouldn't let me upload anything anyway…

But here we are now!

And this is an interesting chapter to lift us from the hiatus. Plenty of psychological stuff in here – mostly inspired by Phoenix Skyborne's suggestion of Robin developing a form of Stockholm Syndrome and Narroch06's consequent "googling" of it… We were going to add in the lyrics to Blink 182's _Stockholm Syndrome_, but considering the trouble I just got into involving illicit song-lyrics, we decided against it…

Well, there is some very beautiful stuff in here, courtesy of Narroch06. Hope you like it as much as I did when she emailed the amended version back to me.

And… we've hit _triple_ digits! All thanks to you guys! So THANKYOU SO MUCH! 101 reviews! Yay! Don't let the flame die out now! Keep it up! Whoo…

Well, enjoy! And don't get too screwed up by it; some of it's pretty heavy…

Black and White 

_Waking up shouldn't be this painful…_

The world dipped into his flesh through the pores in his skin, consciousness catching on things and tearing as the hurt in his body raced to let perception in the door before his other sensations even got off the couch. But it was too far too late for delusions. Pain echoed through him; haunting reverberations sawing up and down his body in uneven jolts, telling the story of what he had experienced. The ache cried – _screamed_ – within him, as he tried to open his eyes, dragging his lashes through the glue of filmy unshed tears that had been left to sit and coagulate under the mask. He lifted his head, the constant spreading pain making him nauseous. He wanted vomit, but his throat was still raw from screaming and he didn't even have the energy to heave, his emaciated unused stomach not having much to offer up besides unemployed digestive acid anyway.

Robin propped himself up on his elbows, cringing as he did so; he was shaking uncontrollably from the sudden prickly icy coldness he felt, from disorientation, and from the new friend his already-unbearable pain called up. It wasn't fair that the irrepressible tremors should affect his newborn scar, waking it from its deceptive slumber to scream and scald him. His chest burned – it _burned so badly…_

He was naked back beneath the sheets of Slade's queen-sized bed. They had been changed; now black silk instead of the crimson ones Slade had made sweet, hot, _flaming _love to him upon. However, despite his discomfort, and complete lack of interest in being awake, his entire being snapped to attention when he found he couldn't see out of one eye; there was just an abstract wall of black in his way. Panicking, he put his hand to it, thinking illogically that he'd somehow gone blind while in a coma. But—

_Hair_.

He pushed the black tress out of the way, only to find that it silkily slipped through his fingers and curtained easily back over his eye. Again he pushed it aside, and again it stubbornly refused to stay put. Looking at it – tugging it horizontally from the root to glare at it – he could see the jagged, sliced ends.

It had been cut this way. But he couldn't remember how, or when, or—

He shifted and nearly screamed at the ripping burning agony in his chest. No, not _within_ his chest; on the _surface_. He gingerly pushed the shining black sheets back and looked down at himself.

There were bandages bound tightly around his chest, from under his arms to just above his naval, circling over his shoulders a few times just to keep the dressing in place.

But even through the thick white gauze he could see the bloody imprint of the sharp "S" now permanently carved into his once-flawless torso.

The recollection stormed through him with all the force of a psychotic tsunami. His roiling stomach won the battle and he leaned over just in time to be violently sick over the edge of the bed onto the floor.

There was an "S" on his chest. _Permanently_.

"I hope you realize you'll be mopping that up, boy."

Robin made a little choking, hiccoughing sound and raised his head slightly. Still hanging over the edge of the bed, he saw Slade's feet, encased in shining black leather and steel. A little of his calves, with their protective shin guards snapped onto the clinging black leather there too.

He whined miserably and hung his head again.

"Get back on the bed, you stupid boy!" Slade sounded very irritable.

Robin obeyed wearily, flopping back onto the mattress. He felt so drained now it was unbelievable. Despite the chain of rather _damaging_ events Robin had endured as of late, he found himself reacting with a lot less concern than he deemed plausible. It was an odd, nearly unpalatable concept that he didn't even have the will to retaliate against Slade anymore. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to, it was just…

It was getting harder and harder to do it. Slade was simply bending and bending him, forcing him into his own warped shape with all the gusto of a chiropractor gone insane. Twisting him until he got to the point where he would snap utterly. And Robin wasn't even sure if he hated Slade anymore. All those wonderful things he had done; touched him, kissed him, licked him, made love so beautifully and wildly passionately to him, filled his dreams with images that were terrible, but ones that he loved even so. His will was being hammered flat, his mind was becoming twisted, and the once unbreakable groove that held morality was becoming more and more level with every second he spent in Slade's presence.

And yet… he _did_ hate him too. He hated him more than anything, for _forcefully taking_ everything from him. His word. His allegiance. His vow of loyalty. His friends. His status as the Boy Wonder, as the Teen Titans' leader. His dignity. His pride. His ability to see everything so clear cut.

Black and white.

Should he _thank_ Slade for that? For opening his eyes? For showing him that everything was _not_ black and white? That _nothing_ was simple, regardless of what Batman had told him all those years ago?

Was that all Slade had truly wanted all along?

He lay there, breathing heavily, absently wiping his mouth on the heel of his hand. The rancid sour taste of vomit was somehow familiar to him now. These past few days…

How long had he been here, anyway? Being viscously bent to Slade's every whim and desire; being punished when he refused to obey? Sometimes punished even when he _did_ obey. How long had he been here, suffering Slade's twisted carnal form of discipline? All for his friends; watching with bated breath as Slade's thumb danced lazily over the crimson button crowning that cursed trigger.

Slade loved to watch him take that sharp intake of breath; Robin knew that. To physically see his ribcage jerk up and inwards by the fervor of his sharpened fear.

Watching him had become of Slade's most favored past-times; Robin knew that too. To watch him move; and fight; or simply stand and furrow his brow in puzzlement and exasperation when his master placed yet another unfeasible problem in front of him and asked him to solve it.

_Forced_ him to solve it. Threatened him. The shining black metal casing of the trigger flashing a mocking grin in the shadows.

He watched him eat. And drink. And sleep. And shower. Robin provided him his own personal little reality TV show. And with that he studied him more carefully than he ever had before – watching even the pattern in which he tossed and turned at night. Analyzing his pernickety little eating habits. He did eat like a little bird. A winter robin, picking at any seeds and berries that could be salvaged.

He had been fussy at first. Had turned his nose up at what little food Slade had offered him in an attempt at resistance. So Slade hadn't forced him; if Robin wanted to starve, then that was fine by him. He could go hungry. Spoiled little boy; wretched, arrogant teen. He had come around eventually. Weak with hunger, he had eaten as much as Slade would give him. Which wasn't a lot.

Yes, he had come around.

Just like Slade had always known he would.

"I sincerely hope that you are not going to pass out a _third_ time, Robin," Slade whispered dangerously. "You have been out of commission for days now…" He leaned right over his frightened apprentice, who shrank back, his eyes – or at least the one Slade could see – wide. "…It was beginning to become _very boring_…"

His gray eye flashed.

"Let's not make it a regular thing, hmm?"

Robin nodded speechlessly, terrified to react otherwise.

"Good." Slade straightened up again, his hands behind his back. He eyed the boy with sudden distaste. "I'll go and fetch you a clean uniform. In the meantime you can get your slutty carcass out of my bed and go wash up."

He lazily snapped his fingers in the direction of the en-suite bathroom, off to the left of the dark bedroom. His eye narrowed dangerously and Robin hurriedly began to scramble from beneath the clinging black sheets, hissing audibly when the brusque movements proved too much for his already tortured body to take.

Slade smiled darkly and sailed from the room.

Realizing all over again that he was naked, Robin pulled the flowing black silk sheet off the bed and wrapped it around himself.

Like Batman's cape.

A lump came to his throat when he thought of Batman. Or the Titans. Or even the Justice League.

So he simply _didn't_.

He weaved to the bathroom – he couldn't walk especially well, his legs being weak and slightly atrophied from lying still for… however many days he had been out of it. He remembered passing out during that brutal rape, though the specific events of it had been mercifully whited out by his unconscious. The only lucid things he remembered from that hellish night were his plans for liberation which had utterly failed and the fact that there was pain. A lot of pain, and it was not just ordinary run of the mill stuff either. It had been of the crudely mortal category that could only be described as _excruciating_… a state of unconscious being his one and only painkiller at the time… and then he had awoken again, and then… passed out again in the shower after Slade had…

Yes, it _was_ becoming a bit of a pattern; one which Robin couldn't say he liked.

The Boy Wonder shuddered as he staggered into the small bathroom, the black sheet trailing behind him. The room was dark and Robin flicked on the overhead light above the mirror. Looking around, he took in the interior. Unusually for a bathroom – en-suite or not – it was red instead of conventional white. Soothing though, somehow. He shivered and looked up at the mirror.

He stifled his shriek as he saw what Slade had done to his hair. He remembered the villain doing it – it had been a knife – but of course hadn't seen it properly. But it profusely shielded his right eye from view, mirroring Slade's uncanny visage.

Which was obviously the intention.

He looked wildly around the shelves and cupboards, searching for hair gel. Even with a massive chunk of it hacked off he would probably be able to salvage it; at least make it vaguely spikey. As long as he didn't look like Slade, he didn't care. He would settle for looking like a porcupine right about now…

Nothing.

He wasn't surprised.

He looked across at the shower; a small, narrow enclosed glass cubicle. The feeling of hot water and steam cleansing his soiled skin was an extremely welcome thought.

Slade _had_ said "go wash up", right?…

He showered riddled with paranoia, just waiting for Slade to slam the glass door open and tear him from the interior of it, still wet and soapy, and then throw him to the floor. Perhaps he would rape him again. Maybe he would just beat him to a bloody pulp.

But Slade didn't come.

Even when he braced himself, his hands pressed against the sides of the glass, to allow the hot water to hit his chest. He had unwrapped the bandages; allowing the strips of linen with blotched red butterflies to coil to the ground. Now the crimson "S" was bared to the world. It was sticky and already beginning to heal; it was agony anyway, and when that hot water touched it—

Slade didn't come, even when he screamed.

Sobbing slightly, he stifled his cry, biting his lip. He wiped his intruding black hair out of his right eye, then rubbed at it with the heel of his hand.

He seriously couldn't take much more of this.

Whether it was through physical abuse or just a heart-attack – from those horrible jumpy moments Slade constantly put him through – the man was going to be the death of him.

Which was probably what he wanted.

Stepping from the shower, he found himself a large fluffy red towel that – by the crisp look and starchy feel of it – had never been used.

Was Slade even _human?_ Did he shower? Did he sleep? Did he eat? Robin had never seen him do any of those normally ordinary things, or even indicate that he wanted/needed to. He _assumed_ that he did, but he had never… No, Slade seemed inhuman to him.

In more ways than one.

He toweled off, still paranoid – patting his "S" dry. It stung like hell, but the pain wasn't the worst of it.

Slade had marked him as his property. And it was like a tattoo; permanent. _More_ so than a tattoo; at least a tattoo could be lasered from the skin if the desire was there. But this would be a _scar_, an acceptance of the clarification of pain. A scar that was going to show the course of time and nature over damage, but what it really was, was the land mark and mindmark that was the notation of a limit. A scar of control, one he would have for the rest of his life.

Depending on how long he _lived_.

And if he were to ever return to his friends – by some fluke, because he knew it was hopeless now – he could not keep it from them. Some of it, maybe, but not everything. Just by looking at his chest they would be able to tell of his horrific abuse.

That was _them_.

Bruce…

He would know _everything_. His title as the World's Greatest Detective aside, he would simply know.

Because Bruce always did.

His wet black hair flopped hopelessly over his eye as he went back into the main bedroom, the red towel clutched at his waist.

He froze as he glanced at the bed and found Slade lying on it. It was bare, or course, as the black sheet was still balled up on the bathroom floor, and Slade was far from asleep. He was just lying there stretched out on his back, fully clothed right down to his heavy boots, his hands behind his head.

Robin stood helplessly in the frame of the door to the en-suite bathroom. He didn't know what to do. Slade seemed not to have noticed him; and anyway, what he _really_ wanted to do was flee back into the bathroom and lock the door. He took a tentative step backwards-

"Come here, Robin."

Slade didn't even glance in his direction, continuing to look up at the ceiling.

Robin hesitated.

"_Now_, boy!"

Wrapping the towel more securely around his waist, Robin gingerly made his way over to his master. He stood at the bedside, watching him.

Slade raised his head to look at the boy. He patted his own stomach.

"Here, boy. Come and sit here. Let me _see_ you…"

Robin didn't move.

Slade sighed and withdrew the trigger from his belt, waving it lazily between two fingers. He immediately put it away again when he saw Robin move out of the corner of his eye.

Not that Robin would _ever_ get it from him.

Robin awkwardly clambered on top of Slade, straddling his stomach as he had been instructed. He fidgeted with the towel so that he was completely covered. He was, after all, still naked beneath it.

His hands still behind his head, Slade looked up lazily at the teenaged boy now elevated on his stomach.

An "S" on his chest.

His jet black hair hacked ruthlessly over his right eye.

His pale skin still decorated with fading cuts and bruises from that night over a week before.

Slade looked up at his apprentice – his beautiful, personal work of art – and smiled deeply.

"Good boy," he purred.

Robin shivered. There was something about Slade that was just so… _sexual_. The way he moved, the way he acted, the way he _spoke_; choosing his words carefully, letting them roll off his tongue. He wrapped each syllable in silk; practically letting the sounds _recline _over in his ears, and the quiet intensity got through to Robin every single time.

Had it simply been Slade's _voice_ that had kick-started his inconceivable addiction with the madman? His _dialect, _that unique deep timbre that had enticed him into this trap? If he closed his eyes, would Slade's "charm" still have the same effect on him?

And if _not_, then what exactly _was_ it about Slade that made you want him in your pants, however much you detested him?

Because whatever it was, it was the biggest, baddest and best weapon Slade had against Robin. More than fists. More than abuse. More than that damned trigger…

Because things were no longer black and white.

Slade had been dumping copious truckloads of thick impassable gray on him ever since they had met. The slippery blinding substance creating a drab monolithic wall between him and his former naive self.

That gray always insinuating how for every good intention Robin had, there was an equally evil one somewhere inside him. How every heroic impulse immediately suggested its opposite. He could not save a baby bird without being struck by how light it was, and how easily he could crush it in a single hand. Even if he didn't like the idea, it was still there. In order to have a concept of good, he also had to have a concept of bad.

It was what Slade was trying to teach him in the cruelest of ways. The principle of opposites which make up part of the dynamics of every human psyche; yet only the truly brave or truly insane care to peer that deeply into the paradoxical shadows of the mind. Robin, on the other hand, was being forcibly thrown in with the door locked behind him.

But it is that terrifying opposition that creates power, the two poles of a battery, the splitting of an atom. The stronger the contrast, the stronger the energy that comes from it. Robin was so far on the side of justice, that when paired with Slade, his dark coin, he was at the mercy of the swelling domineering power that came from their opposed natures. He was helpless against the truth of his own evil, and Slade was ripping away the dusty curtains of façade with all the force of a hurricane. By being so obstinately contradictory to Slade, Robin had already posted his white flag and surrendered to the fact that he would eventually become Slade. An exact duplicate, but aware of both sides, **transcending** his opposite.

Black and white makes something entirely new. Something androgynous and capable of switching sides at a whim; not held back by any moral, or _evil_, impulses either way. That is _real_ power.

It was a thought that Slade clung to. One that made him smile. That Robin, slowly but surely, was being transformed. Renovated and revamped into something completely new.

Completely _beautiful_.

Bruises and all.

That in mind, his large hands reached out and gripped Robin's lithe wrists, preventing him from restlessly fidgeting with that damnable towel further. He squeezed harder than was necessary, straining Robin's thin bones, and the boy winced. Shifted restlessly, uncomfortable in more ways than one.

"Don't flinch," Slade whispered dangerously, squeezing harder still. Robin wanted to cry out in pain, but instead bit his lip to prevent the sound from escaping. He nodded mutely and straightened out his expression to the impassive one he knew Slade wanted to see. A dull painless mask beneath a mask.

Slade smiled.

"That's my boy," he whispered.

An echo of that first night. Still smiling lazily, he waited for the reply. He almost _longed_ to hear it. To hear the strength returned to the boy's beautiful voice. The insolence and defiance and feistiness and all-out _heat_ that he so loved.

_I'm not your boy_.

But – to both his disappointment and juxtaposing satisfaction – the words were not formed by the boy's lips.

Instead the ex-Boy Wonder simply gazed sadly at him, exhaling silently and heavily. His stricken gaze flickered down to his bare chest for a spilt-second, then darted back upwards to meet Slade's dominating gaze.

An "S" carved into his chest forevermore.

_I **am** your boy_.

Robin was gone. He was broken utterly. The fire that had once blazed within him had been conquered and extinguished. Slade knew that.

His fun was over. Robin was dead. All that was left now was the empty shell that was his beautiful marked body.

For Slade to consume and corrupt now with no objection or interruption. His apprentice was truly _his_. Marked as such, and manipulated as such. He had exorcised that detestable resistance that the boy constantly put up right out of him.

He was surprised at how little time it had taken, but did not show it. That would make him seem less _au fait._ It might bring "Robin" back. And Slade would miss him, yes – the defiant Robin of yore had greatly amused him – but he did not want him back. What he had now was a blank sheet of paper with which to create his own masterpiece.

And he was no artist, but he knew what he wanted. He wanted a fighter; a killer. One trained in the art of silence; in more ways than one. Robin would be a flaming little firework no longer; he would be cold and emotionless. He would not utter puns and quips, he would not leap and flip all over the place like a grasshopper. He would kill with one move, without a smile, and would leave to do his master's bidding elsewhere. And then…

He would return to his master in the nights, and he would love and be loved. Pleasure and be pleasured. Scream and shriek and cry and gasp and moan and plead, so that his master would re-assert his authority in the relationship. Just to ensure that the apprentice would never _exceed_ the master, and to ensure that the apprentice damn well _knew_ it.

He gazed intently into those empty masked eyes. Windows to the soul.

_What soul?_

It was a metaphoric sense of the analogy. Of course Robin was still _there_. But he was not the _same_; not anymore. He never _would_ be. Something – _somewhere_ – in him had died. Batman's sidekick was gone. The Teen Titans' leader was gone. Even the rebellious anti-apprentice was gone.

All he was left with was exactly what he wanted;

Robin; pared and naked and unbound by his past. Free for him to shape meticulously into whatever he wanted. And _willing_ to let him do it.

In fact, Slade noticed, he had not uttered a word since he had awoken. Made a few little noises, of course; whines, squeaks of fright and bewilderment, that scream (which he _had_ heard) as the hot water of the shower had rained down upon his newly-birthed scar… But nothing of any use to an intelligent conversation; nothing recognizable as a word of _any_ language, let alone English.

No more protesting. No more uttering profanities under his breath at him. No more crying.

It was certainly something he could live with. If Robin never spoke another word for the rest of his life… Slade found that that the prospect of it did not bother him particularly. He would prefer to hear him _moan_ than speak comprehensible English…

He rocked his hips forwards in a sudden movement, and Robin was pitched forwards onto his chest. His eyes widened in surprise; he hissed in pain as his aching "S" hit the leather-covered metal of Slade's breastplate.

But he uttered not a word.

Reaching up, Slade adjusted the boy, laying the length of his small lithe body against his larger frame. He held Robin's head at his shoulder, laid the other at his lower back, just above the hem of the towel at his waist. He felt him quiver in his arms and smiled at the undeniable power he held over him.

He could feel the changes in his body also; in comparison to that first night he had held him in his arms, pinning him still in the midst of that cruel, blinding, agonizing rape. Robin had _always_ been small and skinny, he just couldn't seem to get any more mass than whipcord muscles over delicate bones, but now… whether it was just a lack of nourishment, or something to do with his mental state, Robin's physique seemed shrunken. Slade could physically feel his ribs against his paper-thin skin; and _that_ too was far paler than ever before. His face had once been rounder – a fuller, heart-shaped quality to it. Now that was gone; his almost-white face was far more drawn, thinner, almost gaunt. He was still nice-looking… in a _dead_ sort of way, but not nearly so nice as he had once been. He looked almost vampiric compared to that earlier, healthier… _chubbier_ version of himself. He had lost weight so drastically – and considering his considerably low weight in the first place – Slade was actually… _worried_ about it.

He remembered the first time he had ever seen the boy. Clothed in tight glowing green and red, a shining saffron belt at his slim waist, a similarly-coloured cape shimmering as its silky interior caught the sunlight, a gold "R" emblazoned over his heart… His jet black hair had shone; his pale skin had been perfect, near-translucent, glowing with health and enhanced by his devastating smile. Slade had always thought him a tad on the small and scrawny side, but still never thought him anything less than perfect. _How_ he had wanted to get between those emerald-clad legs from Day One…

No, Robin's present appearance was something that did not please him. He was a picture of misery and unhealthiness, and Slade did not want a sickly apprentice. A mentally-scarred one he could handle; a _silent_, listless one he could handle.

But he could not handle an unhealthy one, and he did not _want_ an unhealthy one. He wanted Robin to be strong and beautiful; so that he could _love_ him.

Because it had got to a point now… Slade felt not only _lust_ for the boy. It was not quite _love_ either, but… Slade _wanted_ to love him. But he _couldn't_. Not yet. There was nothing _to_ love; Robin was not yet what Slade _wanted_ to love. He was disobedient and pessimistic and arrogant and far too focused on his friends and the balance in which their lives were held.

No, Slade could not love him.

But he _wanted_ to very much.

He felt the boy shiver against him again; miserable little wretch. Couldn't even take a few beatings…

Disgusted by the prospect, he realized that there was only one thing for it. Robin would have to heal before any kind of "real" training could begin. There was no point trying to teach him anything in _this_ state. He was in too much pain; he was not strong enough. That meant him lying up again for another few days. That meant _Slade_… the masked man shuddered at the thought…

_Taking care of him_.

But if he wanted Robin to be worth anything in the long run, it meant sacrificing now. He needed food and water; and he needed rest.

_Regular_ rest. Not of the abnormal "in-a-coma" variety.

And when Robin was "all better", his _true_ transformation would begin. He had successfully toppled the Titan in a billowing crash of emotions and pain, and now he was going to have the pleasure of rebuilding the Apprentice.

Slade sat up abruptly and Robin fell back, landing limply and awkwardly across the older man's legs. Showing him quite a lot of what was under that red towel. Slade caught an interested eyeful and Robin weakly curled up, cutting his peep show short. Slade moved his legs, shifting him off, and Robin simply resumed his curled-up state on the mattress instead. He was shivering and emitting crumbly whimpers under his breath.

Ignoring his pitiful pleas for attention - _any_ kind of attention -Sladerose from the bed and went to the chest of drawers; the same one from which he had drawn the velvet blindfold. Rummaging lazily around, he pulled out a blue button-down shirt that had never been worn and took it back over to the bed. Already this show he was putting on was sickening him, but it had to be done. Robin could not sleep in a damp towel…

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gripped Robin's wrist and pulled him towards him. Robin writhed and tried weakly to resist, but Slade easily dragged him to over anyways, propping him up against him.

"Here." He held up the shirt.

Robin wearily lifted his head, gazing blankly at him. Slade's limited supply of patience was rapidly burning out; he snapped the material at the boy's bare skin, leaving an angry red welt.

Robin flinched and hissed, but did not say a word.

Sincerely irritated by his indolence, Slade roughly dressed the boy in the shirt himself, buttoning three of the fastenings to cover the scar. Perhaps it would heal more quickly if it was not bandaged, if the wound was allowed to breathe. And holding him by the waist, he tugged the damp red towel loose. Robin kicked weakly at him, but there was no real protest in it. He simply didn't have the will or the energy. The shirt was big, anyway, falling almost to his knees.

Picking him up easily – he was far too light to be healthy – Slade laid him down properly in the bed again. He propped a pillow beneath his head, his damp hair all spikey across it. He hated to do it; the sentiment involved in _tucking his apprentice in_ was truly sickening. But he went to the bathroom to get the stolen black sheet all the same, bringing it back and laying it over the ex-Teen Titan, whose eyes were already closing. The boy rolled over, curling up beneath it, and sighed sleepily.

Well.

Slade straightened, hovering, not sure what to do now. Robin was out of commission again, for anything between a day and a week. But he knew that it must be done. Robin would not learn anything in this state. He was too weak.

And he would eat later, Slade would make sure of it. Once he woke up, he would get him something to eat, and a drink. He would care for him enough just to ensure that he got better as soon as he was able, and then…

…Then _this_ would never be asked of _him_ again.

Watching Robin shift, already near-sleeping, made him feel… _strange_…

He tore his gaze from the boy and abruptly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with more force than was necessary.

But before he did, he could have sworn that he had heard…

…_Robin speak_…

"_Thankyou_…"

Leaning back against the door, Slade closed his eyes behind his mask.

Things were changing. They weren't going the way he had planned all those months before. Those plans to snatch Robin away from his friends and use him for his own personal gains…

He hadn't counted on _this_. Liking him in a sexual way. When he had taken him by use of blackmail, using the boy as a sex doll had not been on his agenda.

Things were… _gray_…

All this time, he had been trying to teach Robin that things simply weren't black and white.

Maybe it was about time he started teaching himself the same thing.

* * *

Well, I dunno how long it's gonna be until the next one, so we hope you liked this one! Got to put that next one together… don't worry, I have a few little ideas that I'm sure Narroch06 will make simply delicious… As for this chapter, I really love the bit about the baby bird... It's brutal and literal, but also so symbolic... I wish I could lay claim to it, but for anyone else who liked it, I must therefore inform you that Narroch06 wrote that lovely little line... :) 

Setsuna Mudo – UPDATE TBAHC!

Phoenix Skyborne – UPDATE CHANGES: NINE MONTHS MORE!

Long live slash! It's hilarious! Whoo-hoo!

Narroch06 – We is rockin' da house! 101 reviews!

Keep on rockin', y'all! Peace out!

- RobinRocks x


	11. His Masterpiece

Yes, dear fans, friends and family! Narroch06 and I are pleased to announce our return to the slash fold with a brand new offering in the _Small Print_ narrative. And as said narrative draws to a close – there will probably be only two more chapters after this – it is nice, in retrospection, to look back on what started out as a rather rough one-shot.

I cannot refrain to admit that I am proud of what this fic has become. It has spiraled into a much deeper exploration of the human psyche than was ever intended; it has evolved into something far more than simple slash and I can only thank Narroch06 for that. Her work on this fic – particularly this chapter – is simply stunning and I believe that it is only through the collaboration of our very different writing techniques that I have grown to love this work the way I do.

And it would appear that it is not only Narroch06 and myself who find it inspiring. Yes, you heard it here (although I appreciate that some of you have probably already seen it); _Small Print_ inspired a music video! It is an absolutely beautiful piece of work by one **citrus02honey**, who was kind enough to put her incredible skills to making the music video that Narroch06 and I have spent the last two days squealing about via email. It is to Evanescence's _Going Under_ and if you like this fic enough to be reading chapter 11 of it, then you should definitely go watch it if you have not done so.

To see "our" beautiful fan AMV, go to my profile and click on "Favorites". Click on **citrus02honey**, which will take you to _her_ profile. Read a little way down to find the link to her music videos site. I think it is about the third one down on the left; entitled, of course, _Going Under_. It is _beautiful_… While you are there, three others I recommend (my favorites) are _My Immortal_ (BBxTerra, done in black and white stills), _Stairway to Heaven_ (about Raven, also in black and white) and _Ugly_ (about Robin and Terra each as Slade's apprentice); they are INCREDIBLE...So citrus02honey, if you are reading this, thankyou**thankyouTHANKYOU **so much! You would not believe how much Narroch and I **LOVE** it! We are deeply honored…

Speaking of, I am sure that I have mentioned before that Setsuna Mudo did an art piece inspired by _Small Print_ too. That is exceptionally beautiful too, entitled _Please Don't Make Me_. It was Phoenix Skyborne who sent me the link, though, so I don't know how to get onto it. There might be a link on Setsuna's profile. That deeply honors us as well, my slashy friend!

Well, enough of the plugs!

Dedicated to the fans who put their creativity to work, all for us;

Setsuna Mudo and citrus02honey – this one is for you.

His Masterpiece

He wanted to take each brief nuance in time, every detail, hairlines of moments that could only make up a nanosecond of recollection and arrange them in a quilt work of time; each memory catalogued and spread out in alphabetical order. Gossamer strands connecting related items, some stacked on top of each other, some meandering on their own little world, but all memories being present and accounted for. He wanted to be able to sift through the past, search methodically and tediously for the answer to such a drastic change. Time cannot deny existence, but memory can certainly create gaps and revisions to history. For whatever reason, either his own human error, or simply not enough evidence to begin with, Slade could not find the singular event that had prompted such a reversal of roles. Perhaps it had been building the entire time until it snowballed into an avalanche big enough to cause a paradigm shift. Or maybe it was something he had said or done, but no matter what the cause, he had never intended for this.

Of course he hadn't.

Why _would_ he have? It sickened him. It made him ashamed of his weak behavior towards the boy. How could he have become…

…_this?_

But as the days slithered by – as he meticulously sculpted Robin into what he truly wanted – he found himself becoming more and more attached to him. He was unbearably proud of him, and what he had turned him into. He found the need to constantly be within five feet of him incessant and irritating and always _there_. He could not bear to be apart from him because he was so god-damned _proud_ of him.

He had made something beautiful with his own two hands _(killing hands)_ and now could not bear to let it out of his sight.

Robin was his masterpiece. Of course he was. Every contusion was carefully placed so as not to upset the balance. Ungainly bruises everywhere would just look ugly; Slade did not want that. Just as with everything else – his poise, his fighting style, his hair and the way it fell over his eye – even the signs of his abuse had to be _perfect_. They had to match, they had to _balance_… There was a large pale blue one swollen on his forehead – fresh from only the night before, when Robin had fallen victim to Slade's wicked bojutsu during a fight – and some spreading like wings across his shoulder blades, and an angry violet one on his throat where Slade had grabbed him in a fit of rage for getting a throw wrong two days ago.

And then there were the more intimate marks. Bruising on his nipples; teethmarks on his right shoulder. Dark imprints of fingermarks on the pale insides of his thighs. Even darker bruising – near black – around Slade's very favorite part of him… Bruises at his wrists and ankles where Slade would keep him still for various reasons; along his jawline; on his stomach; all up his legs…

And even when they were covered by that black leather uniform, just _knowing_ that they were there – spilt paint beneath the canvas – kept him happy. He got even _more_ of a kick then, from peeling off the layers at night and seeing the masterpiece unveiled to him time and time again. Every night, he would critically examine his magnum opus and refine it; chip a little more off here, add a little more there. It was a process of elimination.

And fortunately _eliminating_ was one of the things Slade did best.

He had stamped the original Robin flat and then taken what was left and completely reworked him. New lines, new paint, a new artist.

_Batman's_ masterpiece no more.

Slade loved him just for _that_.

For finally being _his_.

_

* * *

However… _

The word "masterpiece" is only an illusion; a comforting human ideal that a mere mortal could make something perfect. When in reality everything humans touch is characterized. What it makes is traced over with the mark of its pulses and breathings, its excitements, hesitations, flaws, mistakes. Lost Venus arms and the thirteenth sunflower, crumbled nose and reasoning lost to time. The art is always marked by the Creator's skill and care persisting through such hesitations, flaws, and mistakes. As with all other masterworks, Slade could pick but one real flaw with his creation.

Robin. Not his body. His _mind_. His psychological standing.

When training and fighting, he was adept, focused and determined; just as Slade – and _Batman_ – had taught him.

The rest of the time…

Well, he was no longer resentful of Slade. He no longer cowered from him. He no longer swore under his breath at him or wished him a painful lingering death.

Quite the _opposite_, in fact.

Which was what bothered his master.

Because Slade knew that Robin's newfound behavior towards him was not normal. To switch so easily from true hatred and fear to sudden liking and ease was amusing at first, but when he saw how earnest Robin's endeavors to reach his good favors were, it unsettled him. His emotions were not truly _real_.

No – and Slade cursed it – it was not that at all.

_The boy had developed a form of fucking Stockholm Syndrome._

Reality struck its common humorous chord of humming chiding irony, but Slade could not laugh. He could clearly see his apprentice's imperfection, for his allegiance and cooperation was no longer off his own back. He no longer had to blackmail or threaten him, true, but that was because the child was psychologically imbalanced.

He had not meant for _that_ to happen either.

At first he had thought that Robin had finally just come around on his own and embraced the darkness which Slade was unearthing within him, but the villain had quickly realized that what he had on his gloved hands was something not nearly so simple as that. Slade was not stupid; a villain, yes, but an educated man too, and he knew Stockholm Syndrome when he saw it. Robin's predicament was enough to tell him that.

Stockholm Syndrome, he knew, was a bond formed between a hostage and a kidnapper over a period of time. The kidnapper offers a threat, to either the hostage's life or to the lives of others, and then removes the threat for one reason or another. The victim of the threat, probably already traumatized by their situation, would then feel a sense of gratefulness towards their kidnapper for removing the threat and consequently form an attachment to them. The longer time went on – and sometimes the more horrific the abuse they endured – the bond only served to strengthen. The victim became clingy in relation to their kidnapper, almost growing to love them in a bizarre way; especially when there was no one else to compare their new perspective to, when there was no one to say that "This is wrong". The victim only knew the pain, and so they lower their standards, and find happiness, a form of respite wherever they can. In truth, it was simply the mind's way of recessing the pain and torment they felt cognitively; a way of hiding from the reality of the horror of what they were going through.

Robin's case was straight out of a psychology textbook.

And in truth Slade just didn't know what to do with him.

He couldn't bear not to be near him… but that was just as well, because Robin followed him everywhere.

He took Robin back to his own chamber every night after training to have his way with him… but that was just as well, because Robin refused to be locked into that initial tiny room by himself. He had tried it once, and Robin had scratched and clung and thrown an all-out _tantrum_ about it. He would not stay in that box by himself, contrary to just a few weeks earlier, when he had cowered in the corner of it, hiding from both Slade and the domineering reality that he did not want to face.

He was being held hostage by his worst enemy. Being forced to work for his worst enemy. Being used as a _sex doll_ by his worst enemy.

And now he was sickeningly willing. He would _let_ Slade hit him, simply because he knew his master liked the blood and the bruises on him. He would do anything Slade told him to, and in return not even question what Slade wanted to do to _him_. At night, long after the "evening's entertainment" was over, he would cling to his master and curl against him and sleep, instead of rigidly lying at the very edge of the mattress, as far away from him as possible.

As though the way Slade always mangled his self esteem was the single excitement of his day. At first he was stunned into obedience by his master's ruthlessness, but now he was wholly animated by it.

Stockholm Syndrome at its very worst.

And – although Robin was now cooperative – it was something Slade did not like to see.

* * *

Regardless of which… 

It was a nice bathroom. Robin wasn't sure how many bathrooms were in this place – or why there were so many, for that matter – but this was probably the nicest. There was that huge shower room, and there was the ruby-hued en suite bathroom, but this…

It was a large square room, all white porcelain tiles. Literally a "bath" room; sunk deep into the middle of the floor was the bath itself, overflowing with steaming hot water and… bubbles. Bubbles did not seem like Slade's thing, but Robin was getting the feeling that Slade was not all the mercenary he seemed. He was pretty damn good to himself; it certainly wasn't like he slept on the floor the way he has first made Robin do. He slept in a queen-sized bed with silk sheets—

-_Which_ Robin got to share if he was good. If he was "bad" (too wriggly or too clingy, for example) Slade would put him on the floor. Naked, usually. That was another game; Robin had to try and get back into the bed without Slade noticing. Which he always did. But usually after pushing the disgruntled – and cold – teenager back out again about ten times, he would let him stay. Although sometimes Robin would cling onto him and he would have no choice but to let him stay for the simple reason he could not be bothered to get him off anyway.

He got to share it not because Slade loved him; not because his master was being kind to him and didn't like to see him freezing and alone in that tiny box-room. He let him share it because after fucking his brains out it was too much effort on _his_ part to dress and pry Robin out from the bed and make _him_ dress and then drag him struggling back to his room. It was a whole lot easier to just let him stay; since he was a firm believer that three in the morning only exists for truly successful insomniacs, or people with a lot on their mind, or chest, or lower so to speak. He just didn't want that kind of hassle.

It was a whole lot easier to let him bathe with him too, because unless he locked Robin up he would just follow him to the bathroom anyway. He would _assume_ he was invited and flee ahead and duck in first and be undressed and in the water before Slade had even realized he was _in_ there. And if he made sure that Robin _couldn't_ follow him, the teenaged boy went nuts. He screamed and cried and struggled with whatever was holding him back from being with his master. Sometimes he would hurt himself; bang his head on the wall until he knocked himself out, so that Slade would return to find him sprawled on the floor, unconscious with a stream of blood flowing from his head. Or he would bite and scratch himself; mess up the balance of bruises. They were cries for attention. Tantrums. Self-harm. It was as though it _pained_ him to be separated from his master; as though those screams were not of rage and misery, but _agony_ and real _anguish_. He hated to be left on his own because Slade had made him _afraid_ of the feeling. Loneliness. Hopelessness. All the overwhelming emotions he had felt during his first few days here; that his friends would _never_ find him. That Slade would _kill_ them, and then kill _him_.

They were fire-branded into his soul, unforgettable sensations which left him a quivering inarticulate heap, his heart bungee-jumping in his throat and turning his guts to a cold oozing sludge that made him incredibly weak. The helplessness, hopelessness, they were a part of him now. A part he feared above all else. He had grown so afraid of those feelings that he had warped them into something that could consume him; the shadow that haunts under every child's bed, the black fog of nightmares had become tangible to Robin, his autophobia had grown teeth and its bite was much worse than anything Slade could possibly dish out. Robin knew Slade was there – would _always_ be there – but he needed to confirm his presence. He was the mooring, a checkpoint, some stable visual object that assured him that the world was still there; that this life was not a dream. That he was still alive somewhere in this hell was only acknowledged to be true because a person he knew intimately was out there, outside himself. There was nothing he could do but accept the mooring, damaging as Slade was, and use it for the verification that he was not alone. That the clanking gears and the perpetual darkness and the teeth that breathed were not the only things in this place. The only person who could _save_ him from those breathing rending teeth was Slade.

The very one who had _caused_ those feelings in the first place.

But psychosis is never cogent to begin with.

He was alone now, and edgy. Slade had left him perched on the wooden slatted bench in the steamy bathroom and simply told him to wait for him to come back. He was not allowed to get into the water, nor was he allowed to undress until his master returned.

Robin understood that.

Slade loved to watch him undress. To see the layers fall back to edgily reveal those bruises, one by one.

He _loved_ those bruises.

There was only one light on, very dim, and Robin sat and fidgeted on the bench amid the rising steam. His chest itched again; his scar was healing quickly into a permanent "S", but for the moment it wasn't looking too pretty.

Healing cuts never do. It always itched like crazy, but scratching at it caused it to bleed and weep, which made it worse.

In his warped state-of-mind, he could not even curse Slade for it.

Speaking of, his master returned swiftly, closing the door behind him with a decisive and familiar _click_.

He locked the door.

Not that there was anyone else here to walk in on them.

And it was not as though Robin had ever tried to escape. One; where would he go, even if he did get out of the bathroom? Two; he had no intention of doing so anyway.

Slade was not taking any chances, however. He never did.

As usual, Slade ordered him to stay where he was until _he_ was comfortably in the water. As usual, Robin pouted and folded his arms. As usual, Slade ignored him. He undressed, aware that Robin watching him – but pretending not to – and sank into the water, still wearing his mask.

Right _under_ the water. Robin could not see him beneath the mass of ice-white bubbles. He _always_ did it.

He stayed under for quite a while, and then his hand surfaced first, sending foam and water splashing across the tiled floor.

Clasped in his hand, dripping with hot water and bubbles, was his black and copper two-tone mask.

He _always_ did it.

Still underwater, he placed the mask on the side; and then broke the surface, taking a gasp of air. He shook his head from side to side, getting rid of the excess water and soap, and came to rest with it slathered across his forehead and in the eye that he didn't have. A black eyepatch – now wet – covered the damage to his right eye, disappearing under the hair anyway.

Robin didn't even blink. He had seen Slade's face before. _Many_ times before now.

Why?

Because Slade _trusted_ him? Or because even _he_ realized it was stupid to take a bath in a metal mask?

Wiping the hair away – slicking it wetly back – Slade turned to his apprentice.

The admiring look on the boy's face never failed to make him smile…

Robin was not blessed with the gift of prophecy; he could not see visions of the future. Nor was he the kind to try and interpret dreams, or tea leaves, or the swirling patterns in smoke. He was firmly rooted to the reality that his sense showed him. He was the rational one who put no faith in superstitions or crystal ball gazing. That kind of thing was generally left up to Raven where the rest of the team (_ex-team_) was concerned.

Raven – Trigon's daughter – sitting in her room, sometimes with Starfire in tow, attempting to contact the spirit world. To conjure the souls of the dead on her bedroom floor.

Robin had never gone in for that sort of thing. If it didn't involve kicking butt (whether the punching-bag in the gym or poor Beast Boy on _Super Ninja Fury_), it failed to sustain his interest. Unless it was a newspaper or a book.

Preferably about butt-kicking.

But still, his dream had been pretty damn accurate.

Well.

Sort of.

In his dream, Slade's hair had been black as Robin's own. Black as night. Black as his _heart_.

_(Was Slade's heart really so black?)_

And true to a teenaged boy's torment-induced "prophecy", Slade's hair really _was_ black. It shone now, wet, with flecks of that marble-white foam through it.

Robin's "prophecy" had "stated" that Slade was devastatingly handsome. He was not sure quite where he had gotten this idea from prior to first seeing Slade's true face, because it had often occurred to him to wonder exactly _why_ he wore a full-face mask the whole time. Possibly to conceal his identity, but… well, Bruce only wore a half-face mask, part of his cowl to create the bat-like appearance. Robin himself wore just a mask over his startlingly blue eyes – to conceal his identity (although it had gotten to a point where he was not even sure if he took it off he would look much different) and also because, yeah, it made him feel cool. Clark wore nothing at all.

This had led him to believe, in the past, while he lay in the darkness of his bedroom at Titans Tower at some ungodly hour, that the criminal mastermind perhaps had something to hide. Was he trying to hide the scars? Remains of torture? Was he just unattractive? And if he _was_, what should that matter to him? Who was he trying to attract anyway? As a rule – well, one that Robin had formulated himself, anyway – villains were generally butt-ugly. Two-Face and the Joker, for instance, had been driven to their criminal tendencies _because_ of their altered, near-hideous appearances. Clayface (one Matt Hagen beneath all that oozing sludge), he recalled, hadn't taken too kindly to being reduced to a shape-shifting Plasmus-resembling blob. Little to none of the villains whom the Titans had ever faced were nice-looking. Cinderblock was… a walking brick wall. Plasmus fell into the same category as Clayface; the one entitled "GROSS" in block capitals. Mad Mod had buck teeth and a Beatles haircut. The Amazing Mumbo was _blue _and scrawny. Gizmo had to be just about the ugliest pre-teen Robin had ever seen in his entire _life_.

Was Slade's mask simply a Code of Enigma? Another of Slade's "quips" designed to get Robin's back up? Because it had worked.

_Who is Slade?_

The question had tormented him for months, echoing through his head, then whenever he closed his eyes, in print as clear as the newspaper cuttings on his wall asking that very question. It was an itch. The _mask_ had tormented him, because he could not tear it off as he could his own and see what was beneath. It had been out of reach, out of touch.

And he hadn't liked it.

But even if the mask had led him into the trap – the temptation of discovery – the removal of it on Slade's part had not freed him from it. Curiosity was ill-bred, and curiosity killed the…

…_robin?_

Either way, his curiosity was piqued once more as he observed his master. Every time he removed his mask, Robin saw something new in his face, something he had failed to see before. The older man was pale – almost unnaturally so, pallid as death – with the prophesized ebony hair, the single stone gray eye Robin had already known was there, the irreversible damage to his right hidden behind the small, sleek patch. His build fascinated his apprentice; although he was built no different to Bruce, Robin still sought wonder in him. Tall, broad-chested and shouldered, slim, well-toned… Robin regarded him with an awe that he had quite possibly never bestowed upon Batman. Slade could not help but feel a little flattered by that; and _more_ than a little smug. He had taken _Batman's_ sidekick – his prized protégé – and made him admire _him_ more.

Was it just his unmasked appearance? Slade could not tell. Robin was not a shallow person – or at least, _hadn't_ been when Slade had taken him. With Robin's present condition taken into consideration, he had to admit he was unsure of what Robin's true personality _was_ anymore.

One thing was for sure, at least in Robin's book; not _all_ villains were butt-ugly.

Slade was quite possibly the one and only exception.

The man could have received an Oscar for looks alone – were that possible, were he not a villain, and were Robin not nearly so crazy as he truly was. He had said that a few times to his master. What it meant was;

"Fuck me _harder!_ And spank me too, if you're feeling up to it…"

Funny how he said it when he wanted something. As though handsomeness was quite possibly the only thing that mattered to his master, and his clingy little apprentice's opinions of him. Still, it was a nice enough comment, although Slade would have liked it better had Robin not been so screwed up in the head.

The boy was becoming restless on his perch now, desperate to get into the water too. Turning to him, Slade folded his arms on the rim of the bath – on the bathroom floor, technically – and then rested his head on his wet soapy forearms.

"You may undress now," he purred lazily, regarding Robin with his one sharp eye.

The boy eagerly leapt to his feet and bent down to unbuckle his heavy boots. Kicking them off under the bench, he straightened up again, fumbling clumsily with zips and buckles in his excitement.

"_Slow_," Slade whispered, shifting his arms slightly, "_down_…"

He said it almost as two separate words. As though Robin was stupid and could not understand Basic English.

Nevertheless, the boy _did_ slow up his pace, and as a result found it easier to undress. With the slowness there was also a certain slickness about it – unintentional sexiness. Perhaps it was Robin's innocence too that made it all the more arousing – although his "teenage-boy-naïveté", typical of every 16 year old boy who pretended he has lost his virginity at 11, was rapidly decreasing the longer he stayed with Slade – and Slade watched him with mounting interest. The ex-Boy Wonder unbuckled his belt and made a show of folding it neatly in half, and then in half again, and placing it on the bench. Such charades – ones which Robin seemed to enjoy putting on, as though teasing his master – irritated Slade, and yet amused him at the same time; perhaps because of the boy's brazenness, believing that he was _allowed_ to do it. Besides, Slade always got a pretty good view of Robin's ass whenever he bent over to do so anyway, so he wasn't one to complain…

"You tease your master, Robin?" Slade purred softly, rolling the "R" of "Robin" off his tongue to enhance the delectable way in which he said his apprentice's name.

Robin turned to him, blinking behind his mask.

"Tease?" He repeated, as though the word was new to him.

Slade had noticed that he tended not to speak very much anymore (unless he was having a Stockholm Syndrome-induced tantrum). He preferred to let actions do the talking for him; or maybe he simply had nothing to say. He had been at his most talkative during his first few days of capture, and the majority of what he had said had been along the lines of; "Please don't make me", "Don't hurt my friends", and "I hate you". Now he sometimes came out with excited streams of speech that barely made any sense – mostly seconds before orgasm on his part – or often said things that were irrelevant to the conversation. For example, it was not unusual for him to come out with something like "Yes, I like blueberry pancakes too" in response to Slade's questioning as to whether or not he had understood the new joint lock he had just taught him. Although it was not as though he found it difficult to teach him. Despite being plain… _crazy_… Robin did not struggle with learning new techniques, or sciences and technology. When learning these things, he was… almost the way he had been before Slade had taken him. Serious. Determined. Slade was more proud of him _then_ than any other time.

Which led him to question whether he had _really_ wanted to change Robin at all in the first place.

Still, the damage was done. The marks were on the canvas now, and Slade had no other choice but to accept his masterpiece as what he was; _his_ work of art, whether he was pleased with the final result or not.

Robin cocked his head curiously, causing his hair to fall aside and reveal the other eye that he _did_ have.

"Tease?" He said again, his tone innocent and questioning, as though he truly didn't know what the word meant.

Slade peered at his puzzled face and then let his gaze drop, traveling downwards. Aside from his boots and belt, Robin was still fully dressed. Slade clicked his tongue in exasperation.

"Forget it, boy," he murmured. "Just get undressed and into the water before I throw you in fully-clothed…"

Robin hurriedly unclasped his neck-plate from around his throat and loosened his gauntlets and thigh and shoulder-guards, pulling the assorted metal away from his body and placing the array on the bench next to his belt, but now not with the same sense of care.

His urgency entertained Slade more than ever. He lapped it up, relishing the flavor of total control; temporarily ignoring the psychological reasoning behind it.

He wriggled off his black and copper spandex-leather top, baring just his bruised chest for a second or two while he tugged it off over his head. Slade licked his lips slightly. The dim lighting drew sharp shadows over the curves and ridges of his body, the darkness creating a shroud of contrast between the naturally toned pale skin and Slade's own additions to Robin's body. A true work of art. Each bruise had been so carefully painted… the ones at his nipples were almost exactly symmetrical, and equally sorrowfully purple.

Purple stood for lots of things. Sorrow, yes. Repentance, according to Catholicism, at least. _Passion_.

And then there was the "S"… Robin would _never_ forget who he belonged to now…

Robin folded his shirt and threw it onto the bench. Just his pants and underwear to go. Quite possibly Slade's favorite part of the ritual…

He tugged at the leather pants, his leg muscles flexing beneath the shining material. In just weeks his muscles had become far more pronounced. Of course, in comparison to his master, he was nothing more than a little weed, dwarfed by the sheer physical presence of Slade. He was a typical teenager, at the very age where he was just teetering on the edge of suddenly filling up and out the way boys do. As a result he was skinny and awkward-looking (though not when fighting, during which he moved with the ease of a feather), with pointy elbows and knees, and thin wrists and ankles made to look even scrawnier in comparison to his large hands and feet. His neck was thin, his chest was hardly broad, his shoulders were slight and sloped downwards in a typical teenage slouch – Slade had noticed that _all_ of the Titans tended to slouch – his hips and stomach were flat and his waist was so small Slade could almost encircle his hands around it, finger-to-finger, thumb-to-thumb (bearing in mind that Slade _did_ have very big hands). He was pathetically small in Slade's single eye; and yet the man looked beyond that and saw what _Batman_ saw too. He was thin, but he was wiry and strong too. His arms and legs were skinny, but although the muscles built up through eight-odd years of martial arts regimes and acrobatics did not show, they were _there_, and in very good shape.

Although, yes, they _were_ beginning to show now, flexing beneath bruises that were far more prominent.

Batman saw determination; something that Slade could see too. He had come to realize that Robin did not _need_ to be some beefed-up mini-Superman to get the job done.

Although he _knew_ Robin would grow and flourish into something… _indescribable_.

Even now, as Robin exposed the jut of his hips as he pulled those tight pants down… Slade could see it. At the moment, Robin was only two things; an apprentice-in-training, and a little sex slave.

But his potential… Robin was little more than a weak child at the moment. But Slade knew that he would mature into a work of art he could _truly_ be _proud_ of. There would be no lost Venus arms by the time Robin was "completed"; they would be restored to him. He would be a beautiful, unstable killer; if his Stockholm Syndrome continued to develop, in time he would come to despise anyone who wasn't Slade, simply because they _weren't Slade_. An order to kill would have no emotional ties – he would kill simply because his beloved master told him to. In a not-too-distant future, perhaps as little as five years from now – when Robin was perhaps bordering on twenty-one and a scrawny teenager no longer – Slade saw himself at the helm of a terrified world, his killer apprentice on _his_ leash, answering to nobody but _him_.

Robin would be _more_ than his apprentice, his heir; he would be his _weapon_.

Slade had never intended for him to develop Stockholm Syndrome.

But now… he was glad he _had_.

He watched Robin discard whatever was left of his clothing – black leather pants, black cotton boxers with "YES" written across the front in white lettering. Slade found that particular slogan highly amusing, and especially on that particular garment. All he had to do was slip his hand inside that waistband and Robin would cling to him and start moaning that three-letter word like…

…_like he was desperate_…

The boy slipped into the water at the other end of the bath and stood for a while, submerged up to his thighs. Bubbles rose higher still, encircling his hips, and through them Slade could see that dark area that was Robin's most secret region. Dark because of the small shock of hair he had there, and also darker still because of the bruising. Bitemarks and fingerprints.

It was hard work being an artist.

Slade beckoned to him, sighing lazily. Robin hesitated before wading over to him, the water getting a little deeper until he was up to his chest. He blinked up at his master; he was still wearing his pointed mask, the edges upturned in a way that was reminiscent somehow of a cat. Slade let him keep it on because he knew the boy would fuss and struggle and scratch if he tried to remove it. He was terribly temperamental, and although Slade often punished him for his tantrums, he knew, deep down, that he could not really blame him. With Robin's mind the way it was, he knew that such behavior was product of an abnormality Robin had developed since being with him. It was _his_ fault, so he could not blame Robin for being the way he was.

And in attempt to keep him calm – he did not like to deal with Robin when he was having another of his tantrums; it was frustrating and required more effort than he was loathe to give – Robin often got away with things Slade would never have let him do before he had changed and became this way. He allowed him to sleep with him and bathe with him because he could not put up with Robin screaming the place down like a two-year-old who can't get their way. The boy also had a habit of scratching during lovemaking, leaving angry thin red ridges down Slade's back and arms the next morning. He would really dig his nails in and _drag_ them down his master's skin during the height of ecstasy; he didn't bite though, which was something that Slade liked to do. The whole of Robin's small shoulder would fit into his mouth, and so he exerted that particular power and often sank his teeth into him, sometimes breaking the skin and lapping his blood. Their relationship was twisted and fucked beyond belief, and yet neither of them would have changed it.

For although _Robin_ had changed, and so had the _situation_, and so had everything _else_, the truth remained the same as it had always been.

That Robin and Slade were – painfully – alike.

They had been brought together like this – or so Slade had come to believe – because fate had been designed this way.

Designed in the same way an artist designs their masterpiece. True art is not inspired by something outside the architect; masterpieces are much more intimate than a random lightning bolt from the Truth. They are autobiographical and the creator's life can be read through his pieces, if one knows where to look. Robin was going to be a public symbol of him very soon.

He contemplated that as Robin reached for him and curled against him, closing his eyes behind his mask at the pleasure the feeling of Slade and the hot steamy water brought to him. Later tonight, he knew, Slade would make love to him again, and then they would sleep intertwined, and everything would be as it _should_.

He could barely remember what it felt like to be a Teen Titan. Batman's sidekick. Circus boy…

Minutes later, as Slade cruelly held him underneath the water, pinning him until he felt his struggles diminish; and the glimmering bubbles ceased to gush from his throttled mouth as he neared drowning completely (at which he would pull him to the surface, allow him to cough and splutter and get his breath back, only to repeat the whole brutal process), he still had no desire for it to be any other way.

It was just another of their games.

A process of repetition, aspiring to perfection.

Art is like that.

* * *

Well, yeah; not much happened, truthfully… And the ending is ironic considering citrus02honey chose _Going Under_ as the song for the "Official _Small Print _Music Video"... 

We will be back ASAP with the penultimate chapter! The Titans will finally be making an appearance (_not_ in a dream)!

Also look out for another slashy one-shot that we are working on; a three-parter, originally the song-fic _Run To You_ until it got deleted. It is called _Love Over Gold_ and will most probably be under my name too. We are kinda pleased with that too; well, what we have so far.

Setsuna Mudo and citrus02honey; we hope that this was very much to your liking. Thankyou soooo much…!

TTFN!

- RobinRocks xXx


	12. Rescuing Robin

If you're thinking that this has been a shorter "interval" than usual concerning the writing and updating of a new chapter…

You are right. Narroch06 and I _did_ pull this together pretty quickly. That's not to say that it is in any way rushed. No, we think you will like this. Not gonna say too much – except that, just to pique your interest, this chapter marks the long-awaited arrival of the _Teen Titans themselves_ (_not_ in a dream sequence)! Yes, it's a long time overdue… a _very_ long time overdue, actually…

Because let's face it, this fic is pretty much just about (and Narroch06 and I will admit it) Robin and Slade having various forms of sex.

Before we get started, I have to say that Small Print has gone up in the world yet again! In addition to having a fan-art piece by Setsuna Mudo _and_ a music video (_Going Under_, in case the plug last chapter didn't stick with ya…) by Citrus02honey, we now have two other beautiful fan-art pieces by the wonderfully-talented Phoenix Skyborne (everybody go read _Changes!_ Like, right now! I _mean_ it!). Now, I am not so sure how you would find those… I'm gonna try looking into a link on my bio, but for the moment I'll just admit that I am a bit brain-dead when it comes to computers and loading up stuff onto here is about the limit of what I can do. I think they are on her LiveJournal and should be easy enough to find if you look her up; she definitely has a link in _her_ profile. She is on my Favorite Authors list on my profile. And you can all read _Changes_ while you are there, because it is awesome…

In other news, it may delight that you to know that we under-estimated the chapter-count for _Small Print_! We thought it would only be thirteen; but yay for you, because Narroch06 and I have now decided that it will be fifteen instead. So we have three more to go now after this chapter instead of just one. Whoo-hoo!

HUGE thankyou to all who reviewed, but there are too many to reply to right here… :P Info on our **NOW UP** RobinxSlade co-written three-parter _Love Over Gold_ will be down the bottom. For now, enjoy;

Rescuing Robin

"I would say that you are ready…"

He slipped his hands over his apprentice's shoulders, gripping the metal neckplate. He ran his thumbs over the metal studs on it, then slid them upwards again, massaging the nape of his neck above the metal collar of his "armor".

Robin swallowed, tilting his head into the touch. Slade's hands moved back, clasping on the steel shoulder guards.

"You're going to do everything I tell you, _aren't you?_" Slade whispered; but his tone did not have the interrogative rise at the end of the sentence, for indeed the statement was not a question. Nor was it an order; it was simply a _statement_. Of _course_ Robin would do exactly as he was told. Without question. Without _reason_.

He was so fucked up in the head he no longer had the capacity to do anything _but_ what Slade told him. He barely thought for himself anymore, simply followed the orders of either his body or his master. If his stomach told him that he was hungry, then he would eat; similarly, if Slade told him that he needed sexual release he would undress there and then, without either question or protest, and allow Slade to have his way with him. Bed. Chair. Floor. Wherever they were, Robin did not object.

As it was, Robin's eyes narrowed at the statement. He nodded once, slowly, and flexed his shoulders. The muscles in them were taut and strong, bigger than they had been before Robin had fallen into Slade's clutches; as were the ones in his legs and arms and chest and stomach. When training (or during the act of having wild love made to him) six faint ridges rose beneath the smooth pale skin of his abdomen; just faint hints of the muscle that had never been _that_ strong before. He was not suddenly buffed up like a bodybuilder; but there was a definite strength in him that had never been there before. He had once held himself with confidence; pride, almost _arrogance_. His stride, his stance, even the way he had held his head (_high_)… There had been a definite cockiness about him.

And now that was gone.

Not that he was suddenly meek and mild. Not at all. _Now_ his body was constantly taut; his fists constantly clenched. His head was held low, the jet black hair hiding half of his pale face, shadowing it. His expression was no longer happy, or smug, or irritated… it did not vary according to his feelings. On the contrary, it seemed he no longer _had_ any feelings. His facial visage was one of constant anger and moodiness – resentfulness and aggression. There was no pride in him anymore; all there was a pure homicidal instinct. He felt loyalty not even to himself; only to his master. He rarely even opened his mouth to talk; his smile, his smirk, his grimace, his pout… all that had _been_ him was reduced to a tight, grim little line.

A warped flame of hatred which seared inside him so intensely that it had somehow fused with a twisted love and now continued to burn in his eyes. His stance was of constant _battle_…

He was obedient. Quiet. Respectful. Strong. Full of an anger that was not directed at anyone or anything in particular; the leftover of his hatred for Slade, which had been therefore redirected as his Stockholm Syndrome had begun to kick in. He was no longer the defiant Boy Wonder and Teen Titan; nor was he the broken, listless wreck that he had been after Slade's brutal punishment for his disobedience; nor indeed was he even the shrieking, screaming-if-he-couldn't-have-his-way willing specimen of only a few weeks back.

Somehow, he had evolved through those three stages to become _this_.

What Slade had wanted; what he had _dreamed_ of the moment he had set eyes on him. The _reason_ – aside from the sex – he had blackmailed him and taken him from his friends.

_The Perfect Apprentice._

"Oh yes, you are most definitely _ready_," Slade purred in his ear. "Ready for your first _assignment_…"

Again Robin gave a jerky little nod, his ebony hair brushing across his face.

Slade turned his apprentice to face him, cupping his chin in his hands and tilting his face upwards. The moody masked eyes gazed back at him.

"The thermal blaster, Robin," he crooned, tightening his grip on the boy's face. "I _want_ it; you're going to get it for me. I want you to _steal_ it for me…"

Robin pulled his head free.

"Yes, master…" His voice was almost inaudible.

"There's my boy…" Slade traced his finger along the shining sharp "S" at Robin's chest – knowing that a _real_ one, hacked into his bare chest, was there beneath the spandex surface. "Make your master proud, and of course you will be duly _rewarded_…"

_Something_ flashed in Robin's eyes – Slade saw it even through the mask, but he could not identify it. Was it excitement, or anger, or even a spark of _defiance_ that had somehow survived and refused to be stamped out of him?

There was a painful pause—

"Yes, master…" Again Robin's words could barely be heard. He abruptly turned away from Slade and swept from the room, the urge to kill positively _radiating_ from him; but whether it was _Slade_ he wanted to kill, or just kill in general, the masked villain remained unsure of.

Not that he particularly _cared_.

Robin was _his_ – well and truly brainwashed – and to him that was all that really mattered.

* * *

"Slade." Cyborg's voice was grim. "Dunno what he wants _here_, and _now_, but whatever it is, he's gonna have to go through the Teen Titans first."

Beast Boy snorted.

"Yeah, haven't heard from him in a while. Not since—"

Cyborg cleared his throat loudly; shooting a murderous look at Beast Boy, and then averting his gaze to Starfire. Beast Boy blinked, then caught on and was silent.

"Sorry…"

He too looked up at Starfire. Her emerald eyes were blazing, as were her hands; her auburn hair whipped at her face in the cold night air. The alien girl too had undergone a process of metamorphosis since Robin's disappearance over two months ago. Her progressive change had not been unlike Robin's own – first she had been distraught; then like a limp rag, trailing after her team-mates with all the enthusiasm of a heavy metal fan at a Bach concerto. Until, finally, pure rage – _righteous fury_ – had overridden any grief and she felt simply hatred. Her anger was not at Robin, but _Slade_, for _taking_ him from her. For all they knew Robin could be _dead_. She, nor any of the others, had seen him since that night they had gone in search of the "Chronoton Detonator" on Pier 41.

Which, of course, had been a ruse to tempt the Teen Titans from their leader and ensnare him. For what purpose? Neither Starfire nor the other Titans knew a thing. Slade had possibly murdered him; they had had no contact with him since that night. It was that scenario that drove her to such furious despair; that Robin had gone so willingly and so bravely to his demise. Had Slade strangled him? Hacked him to pieces? Drowned him? Simply beaten him to death? Each of these morbid prospects – and many others, each worse than the last – had whirled around her head for all the days and nights which he had been gone. She ached with her loss; yet ached more with her ignorance of his fate. She simply did not know where he was or what had happened to him – he had disappeared off the face of the earth, and the thought of never seeing him again was unbearable.

And for all that time too there had been not even a trace of Slade; _nothing_ at all. But _now_…? Now he was _back_, suddenly out of the blue…? Starfire did not know how or why or where he had been all this time, but she _did_ know that tonight there would no mercy. She would have, if nothing else, _revenge_ for the scar inflicted upon her soul…

* * *

Spread-eagled and freefalling, Slade's apprentice descended from the sky to the tall circular building; in which was kept his objective. He landed lightly on the observatory dome atop the building and paused in a crouch. For a few moments he stayed there, perfectly still, simply… _enjoying_… the fresh cold air. He had not been outside for an entire two months; Slade had always been too wary of him running away before now. He stood, the wind blowing his ebony hair back from his face; and then he pulled an explosive device from his belt – marked with an "S" – and threw it at one of the sheet metal panels of the dome.

He shielded his eyes against the blast as it blew a dent in it and popped the rivets; and then, crouching again, worked his fingers under it and pulled it off, letting it clash and clatter as it descended down the sloped side of the building. A dark square hole was now before him, which he duly leapt into headfirst.

Inside the metal roof was a network of pipes and support beams and cables. Robin moved through it easily, acrobat that he was, and soon reached the bottom; only another thin sheet of metal separated him from the laboratory in which resided his goal. Reaching up and clasping the support beam above him, he brought his legs up and then slammed them down again together, denting the panel beneath his feet. Another few smashing kicks and the panel fell right through, clattering to the floor below. Robin dropped through the gap he had created, landing in another cat-like crouch. In one swift motion he pulled another device from his belt, stood and hurled the toy across the room. The detonation device – again marked with a small "S" – sunk into the glass storage vessel in which, floating in a blue forcefield, was the object of Slade's desire. The mini bomb made a small _beeping_ noise, each of the tiny lights on the exterior of the insignia lighting up in succession; then there was a brilliant flash and an electronic-sounding explosion as the glass shattered and the forcefield shorted out.

In three long bounds, before the smoke had even cleared, Robin was at the containment unit and reaching for the device. He stretched for it, snatching it up, allowing himself the ghost of a tiny self-satisfied smirk—

And then the expression was gone. He turned sharply at the sound of many quick heavy footfalls and froze as the door to the laboratory was kicked in; four guards pounded inside, their weapons charged and ready to fire.

"He's stolen the thermal blaster!" One cried angrily, his laser gun blazing.

Robin looked boredly at him, lazily tossing said thermal blaster from one hand to the other.

"Stop him!" A second guard shouted.

All four of them followed that order, opening fire. Robin offered another look of irritated contempt before fleeing. He sprang forwards, somersaulted into the air, arcing over in an impressive gravity defying fashion—

He caught hold of the edge of the gap in the ceiling and flipped upwards and was gone.

Working his way quickly through the maze-like interior of the roof, the guards followed the scraping noises he made, turning and pounding back out into the corridor and down a flight of steps, all pausing at the beginning of a long metal walkway.

The sounds of Robin's escape stopped.

"Where'd he go?" A third guard asked aloud, puzzled. They paused, looking around, and then all ran off in succession, guns at the ready.

Robin allowed himself another tiny smile even as the blood rushed to his head; nevertheless, he was reminded uncomfortably of Batman as he hung upside down from the roof. Righting himself, he dropped to the walkway below, landing as noiselessly as was humanly possible, and, still clutching his prize, re-embarked upon his flight of the crime scene.

And then, as if materializing from his dreams, there they were. Right in front of him. He scraped to a halt as Starfire and Beast Boy pulled out right in his path; the former looking ready to kill, the latter looking equally murderous.

He heard the _swish_ of material behind him, indicating Raven's presence.

He heard the _buzzing_ of that familiar proton cannon and the heavy _thud_ of those familiar metal-encased feet, notifying him of Cyborg's arrival at the scene as well.

"Freeze!" Cyborg shouted.

Robin froze.

If only for a second. He darted between Beast Boy and Starfire, taking off again down the walkway.

"Get him!" Cyborg roared; Robin heard an angry inhuman shriek from Starfire at the command and almost faltered.

They gave chase and soon he found himself at the very edge of the walkway. All that was between him and a very long drop was a short wall at the rim of the roof. Still enshrouded in the shadow that seemed to cling to him, Robin looked over edge—

"I said _freeze!_" Cyborg yelled furiously as he and the rest of the team scraped to a halt not even a meter from the criminal. "You're going _down_, Slade!"

Hearing his master's name seemed to excite something in Robin – whether it was anger or what – and he whipped around to face them, his stance low and coiled to attack, his eyes narrowed, his hair obscuring his face so that his visage was similar to that of his master.

The Teen Titans staggered and performed some kind of simultaneous double-take. Starfire gasped audibly, her green eyes wide and her hands at her mouth. Beast Boy's mouth hung open. Cyborg and Raven simply _stared_ at him, dumbfounded.

"That's not Slade, that's…" Beast Boy trailed off, shaking.

"…_Robin_…" Starfire whispered weakly. She flew forwards a little, extending a hand towards him.

"Robin?… You are… _alive_…?"

He remained absolutely still, his stance perfect to launch an attack. Starfire landed in front of him, her long slim hand still reaching for him.

"Starfire, I really wouldn't…" Raven trailed off, her voice quiet anyway.

Ignoring her, Starfire put both hands tentatively on Robin's shoulders, pulling at him to make him stand up straight. He rose at her unspoken command; she felt him quivering slightly under her touch. Fear? Anger? _Desire?_

"It is… it _is_ really you, yes?" She whispered, slightly breathless from her shock. She moved a hand from his shoulder up to his face, pushing his hair from his eye to see him properly.

He said nothing. Did nothing. In his left ear he heard the tiny silken voice whispering commands; his conscience?

Hardly.

"Not a word, Robin. They're not your friends anymore…"

So he simply gazed at her, his expression impassive, his eyes empty. Inside, some kind of turmoil seethed; it had been easy to eventually forget them, Slade's brutal regime of torture, discipline and "love" creating a thick coat of dust to tarnish over his memory of them. But now, when suddenly faced with them again after all this time…

It was cruel.

_They_ had been the reason he had promised to work for Slade in the first place the bargain of their safety from the probes inside them in return for utmost loyalty and obedience.

The primary panic he had felt when Slade had first presented the threat all those months ago that had led him to overlook the _small print_ of the deal…

He shook. He raised his hand, and then lowered it again to grip the air uselessly by his leg. His eyes converged with Starfire's and he saw encased in the emeralds, the glistening of myriad emotions. Their transparency and weight were so immense, that her feelings were almost palatable. He could smell her disbelief, taste her happiness, and swallow her desire; and with her core focused solely on him… he had the distinct feeling that she could see his soul.

Her hand dropped from his face, allowing his hair to fall back across his eye. The other three Titans simply stood there, utterly bewitched. Starfire squeezed her eyes shut, tears finally leaking from them, and threw her arms around him, embracing him tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder and for a few moments he stood there rigid in her grip.

And then his arms snaked around her and he gripped her as tightly as he possibly could, wedging her shoulder under his chin. He shivered and closed his eyes too. The other three – Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven – all saw the tears trailing from beneath the mask—

—

This had better be a decoy. Slade's fists clenched as he watched the little love-filled charade on one of his many monitors. Yes, there was his wretched apprentice, his arms around the filthy alien girl, crying his little heart out. How tightly he gripped her, the tears in his eyes…

For _Robin's_ sake – much less his friends – this had _better_ be a decoy

—

"Never have I been so overjoyed to see you, Robin," Starfire whispered tearfully, her words muffled as she said them into his shoulder. "You are safe. But please…"

She drew back from him, eyeing his new – well, at least to _them_ – outfit with disgust.

"Your uniform… why are you-?"

Robin kissed her. He did not know _why_ he did so, but he _did_. Grabbed her head, digging his fingers into her hair and pulling on it; he kissed her _hard_. Inside the kiss was a world all its own. The emotions which he only thought he could perceive were suddenly vividly piercing through Robin's drab, numb mind. They tasted like honey, sunshine, cotton, summer, sweat, gold, but most of all, warmth. Even though his rough kiss might have been classified more as an 'attack' than a show of affection, he was so used to Slade's mouth that such sensations were a breath of fresh air to him, and Starfire—

A shrill squeal of electronic feedback _screamed_ in his ear from the tiny radio receiver plugged in there. He faintly heard Slade's voice through it but could not make out the words. It grew louder, became higher and higher, sending needles through his brain as the frequency spiraled upwards—

He bit down on her lip accidentally, the pain in his head causing an involuntary spasm of his jaw. Starfire shrieked and he broke from her, staggering backwards against the diminutive wall. He doubled over, his hands clawing at his temples, shrieking in agony with Starfire's blood dripping from his mouth.

Ignoring her own pain, Starfire rushed to him. She reached for him and he blindly slapped her away.

"Get _away_ from me!" He screamed through his pain. "Away from me! _Get away!_"

Starfire shrank back and Robin turned and leapt over the edge of the roof, still clutching the thermal blaster. He flung a few smoke capsules back after him and by the time his former friends had waved it away…

…he was gone.

"Did you _see_ him?" Beast Boy burst out wildly, flinging his arms out. "Has he gone _crazy?_"

"Not crazy," Raven murmured. "Brainwashed, perhaps. Truly evil, even. Anything but _crazy_…"

"One thing's for sure," Cyborg said grimly, coming to the crushed Starfire. "Slade definitely has something to do with it." He put his hand on Starfire's shoulder, turning the alien girl to face him. "You okay, Star?" He wiped at her bleeding lip. "Did he hurt you?"

Starfire sniffed, wiping her own lip clean of blood.

"Yes," she whispered miserably.

And then she straightened up. Her eyes blazed. Her whole body shook.

"But Slade hurt Robin even _more_, and for _that_ I assure you, my friends… he will _pay_…"

* * *

Slade rose from his chair languidly as the doors to the main room of his lair banged open, granting his apprentice access.

He was furious, amused and proud all at once. He did not know which of those emotions would be the strongest by the time Robin reached him. Pride; and he would be rewarded for his efforts. Fury; and he would most certainly suffer for his moment of weakness.

The boy's stride was stiff and unnatural, jerky and unbalanced; nothing like either his confident "I'm-Called-The-Boy-Wonder-For-A-Reason" strut of yore, nor even like the sulky stalk in which he now carried himself. His eyes were wide, sparks crackled from the device in his left ear, and every so often he would twitch his head to the side to wince and grit his teeth.

Gripped tightly in his hand was the thermal blaster.

Slade sat down again, leaning back luxuriously, as Robin staggered the last few steps and collapsed to his knees at the foot of the throne-like chair.

"_Very_ nice, Robin," Slade purred. "You bow before me now without my even needing to mention the word "kneel". Why, not so long ago, I needed to _threaten_ you…"

Amusement was winning the battle at the moment; he smiled even as Robin weakly lifted his head, wincing as another few sparks crackled from the radio in his ear.

"_Please_ take it out," he begged, his voice soft and laced with agony. "It's hurting, I can't even _think_… _please_…"

Slade smiled.

"I do so love it when you _beg_," he murmured. "Of _course_ I will relieve you of your pain, no matter how well _deserved_ it was. _However_… first, give me the thermal blaster…"

Bowing his head, one hand at his left temple, Robin reached up with his right and thrust the blaster blindly at his master. Slade took it, ignoring Robin as he moaned and curled up on the floor. The tiny device in his ear was going haywire, sparking and squealing so that it gave him a headache of such proportion it felt as though his skull would surely _burst_ from the pressure, not to mention it felt as though the vellum was being scraped off of his eardrums…

Slade ran a hand along the blaster, removing the muzzle to take a look, then replacing it. When he was satisfied – which took several minutes – he set it gently down on the arm of his chair and stood again.

"Get up, Robin."

With a titanic effort, Robin jerkily hauled himself to his feet, his left hand clasped over his left ear, grimacing in agony.

"It may either please or distress you to know," Slade whispered, circling him, "that _I_ am the one doing this to you."

He stopped dead ahead of Robin and tilted his chin up with one strong finger. He held up his other wrist level with Robin's eyes; a metal band was around it, and attached to this was both the trigger for his precious probes and another, smaller device, which was sparking itself. It had a tiny dial which ranged from _Zero_ to _Max_.

"There are many prices which you can pay for disobedience," Slade went on dangerously. "Some you have already been subjected to; the night on which you were sorry you ever went behind my back and took that trigger, for instance. And then, of course, there is the threat of the death of your friends. But _this_ was more personal. After seeing your weakness tonight – a weakness I was _certain_ I had wrung right out of you – I decided that it was not even that filthy _alien_ I wanted to hurt…"

His single eye flashed angrily.

"Dear Robin… it was _you_…" He gripped Robin's chin. "You're in _agony_, aren't you? Human ear drums can only withstand a certain range of decibels, and after that it hits the inner ear. Quite an extraordinary organ. It's what maintains balance, controls eye movement, and it is just a tiny fluid filled cavity in your head." Slade gave a small chuckle and then continued in his condescending tone; "You can't think properly, you can barely stand, your vision is blotchy, your eardrums scream, your eyes burn, your brain feels as though it is swelling far beyond the capacity of your skull… Electromagnetic feedback can a _terribly_ painful thing, can't it?"

"But I… _got_ it!" Robin protested breathlessly. "The blaster… I did what you _wanted_…" Another spark crackled from his ear and he squeezed his eyes shut against it, wincing. "_Please_ take it out… I can't…"

"In a moment," Slade whispered, digging his fingers hard into Robin's skin to cause him even more pain. "Once I feel you have been duly _punished_…"

Robin's eyes snapped open, widening.

"But—"

Slade kicked the pressure of the feedback up to its full capability. Sparks flew wildly from the tiny device lodged in Robin's ear and the sound was so shrill and loud that even Slade winced against it.

Robin _screamed_, collapsing to his knees, tearing at his hair and clawing at his temples—

"_Stop!_" He screeched, tears streaming down his face. "Make it _stop!_ _Please make it stop!_"

Slade smiled, watching him suffer for a few more moments—

And then calmly twisted the dial back to _Zero_. The feedback died, as did Robin's tortured screams, and he keeled forwards to lie facedown on the floor of the main room, gasping for breath and whimpering from the pain that was still ringing there.

"No, Robin," Slade reprimanded him coolly, mockingly shaking his head. "You can't lie there. Up you get…"

He reached down and took hold of Robin's hair, dragging him to his feet by the long asymmetrical fringe across his right eye. Robin stood, swaying, one hand still at his ear. Slade slipped behind him, his hands going around his thin neck.

"Must you be so _disobedient_, Robin?" He whispered in his aching ear. "_Must_ you _force_ me to _punish_ you?"

Robin whined, moving his other hand up to catch Slade's wrist at shoulder level. Slade smirked as he felt the small strong fingers wrap around his wrist and took his other from the boy's neck, pushing his hand aside from his ear. He worked his finger underneath the radio receiver and managed to get a grip on the little "S"-marked device. One tug and he ripped it out, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. A few little sparks flew from it and then it gave up the ghost, a tiny amount of smoke leaking from the minuscule speaker. He crushed it in his hand and tossed it aside, hearing it bounce on the concrete floor.

Robin breathed a small sigh of relief.

"What do you say?" Slade asked pressingly, the one hand still at Robin's throat tightening.

Robin squeaked uncomfortably.

"Thankyou…"

"Good boy…"

Slade pulled off his mask, holding it in one hand across Robin's chest – the hand that had been at his neck – and pressed his mouth against Robin's left ear. He kissed all down it, then bit down on the lobe. Robin shivered with the sensation, his hand tightening on Slade's wrist. Slade kissed his jaw, then moved down his neck, biting the jugular too—

Robin gave a long, low, shuddering moan, arching his back.

And, suddenly furious, Slade wrenched him away and belted him across the back of the head, sending him to the floor. He pulled his mask back on and towered over his fallen apprentice.

"_You filthy little slut!_" Slade yelled at him. "The alien girl… you _kissed_ the alien, _embraced_ her, pressed your smutty flesh to hers, and now you return to me and _moan_ with pleasure at _my_ touch…" Slade slammed his foot down squarely on the center of Robin's back, making him cry out in pain and surprise. "No, Robin, I do _not_ play that way! _That_ much at _least_ you should have learned by now. You are _mine_; _I own you!_ You sold yourself to me to protect your worthless little friends; your freedom in exchange for their welfare. _No compromises! _You will _answer_ to no-one but _me_, you will _listen_ to no-one but _me_, you will do _nothing_ unless _I_ have given you kind permission to do so! That _includes_ _kissing_ those who were once your friends! I will not tolerate an apprentice of two minds; you will be utmostly loyal to _me_, or you will perish with your friends! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Wincing at the pain of Slade's weight on his back, and the choice words which were emphasized with a grind of his heel, Robin nodded.

"Answer me properly or you will suffer for it!"

"Yes, yes… I understand!" Robin wailed.

Slade pressed harder still on his back.

"Yes _what?_" He hissed dangerously.

"Yes, _master_…" Robin gasped, near tears.

"Excellent." Slade lifted his foot from his apprentice's back, his tone suddenly detaching itself with icy-calm again. "I am glad you _finally_ understand the terms of the contract. That damn small print, hmm?"

He let the allusion float unquestioned through the room as he moved back to his chair. Sitting down again, he took the thermal blaster up and began to thoroughly examine it once more.

Robin rolled over, sitting up. He watched his master with wide eyes, at a loss for what to say or do next. After a few painful moments of a silence tainted by the creaking of gears high above—

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?" Slade asked nonchalantly, not looking up from the blaster. Robin blinked, then pulled himself together.

"I'm… I'm sorry, master…"

"Hmm." Slade still did not look at him. "I am not quite sure I _believe_ you… Are you truly _sorry_ for what you did? I thought you had become the emotionless killer I have always wanted you to be, and then you disappoint me with your weakness…"

Robin had the niggling suspicion that Slade was trying to lead him into some kind of trap, but even after being in his presence constantly, he still could never foresee what Slade planned to do. Though his condition also had a big impact on how he interpreted Slade. No longer did he wonder what made the villain tick. There was no more logic, no more questioning, no more hesitations. He accepted whatever Slade gave him. The days, weeks and months of torture and abuse had numbed him and nurtured his hatred and inner evil. In truth, he had only one weakness now; the very same one which had led him into this tangled net in the first place.

The Teen Titans. His friends. Starfire. Cyborg. Raven. Beast Boy. He could not shut out his fear for them the way he could shut out everything else. As long as they were in hypothetical danger, he would remain as Slade's slave.

"I'm sorry, Slade…"

"Master."

"I'm sorry, master…"

Slade lazily put the thermal blaster aside once again.

"Come here, Robin. Perhaps you will _show_ me your repentance instead… Come and make it up to me…"

Robin cocked his head, confused; until Slade began to unbuckle his belt—

_("Please don't make me… Please… Anything but that! Anything!"_

"_Stop crying." _

"…_I'll do anything…" _

"_You're going to do this."_

"_I can't…"_

"_You can and you will, or your friends will be the ones that suffer for it—")_

The conversation of the very first time seeped into his mind. The way he had protested and cried and struggled, the way Slade had cheated and run the system simulation of the probes, tricking him into obeying…

No need for such threats this time.

Robin scrambled to his feet and darted towards his master. He dropped to his knees in front of him, eager to please and obey and actively show his remorse. Sullen, dangerous and unstable he may have been; but above all, Stockholm Syndrome still clung tenaciously to his mind, poisoning him and bending him almost to willfulness and consent.

Slade unzipped himself and spread his thighs.

"Be gentle with me now, won't you?" He said mockingly, looking down at his apprentice with an air of certain contempt.

Robin took that as an invitation and dived in there head-first, near-choking himself by going far too fast. He gagged in discomfort and had to back up a little, scraping his teeth along Slade's length. Slade made some sort of gasping moan and gripped the hair at the back of Robin's head. Robin sank his fingers into his master's thighs in response, sucking and biting him with a fierce determination. His brow was creased into a near-frown with the seriousness of his venture, and he pushed and pushed deeper and deeper into the dark warm cave between Slade's legs until the entirety of his master's cock was within him; in his mouth and in his throat. His actions had more of an effect on Slade they ever had before; usually the man simply sat there, one hand behind his apprentice's dark head, giving a little moan now and then, but basically just sitting there impatiently tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

But _now_ Robin was injecting all of his anger and frustration and pain into his oral activities and the effect on his cool-as-ice master was stunning. Instead of simply sitting there tolerating what could be honestly classed as only a mediocre sexual experience, he was actually writhing in his chair, gripping the arms of it, thrusting his head back, panting and moaning…

Robin smiled around his mouthful; for the first time since he had first laid eyes on Slade, _he_ was the one in control. He relished it, lapping up the reversal of roles, and upped his already-frantic pace to get more of that elusive feeling of power. Slade bucked his pelvis against him, bringing one knee up and arching his spine against the back of his chair.

"_You have… learned… well!_" He panted, digging his fingers into Robin's scalp. He gave another moan and Robin duly sank his teeth into him, but not in such a way as he had intended that first time all those weeks and weeks ago.

_("Oh, and Robin? Need I remind you of what will happen if you got it into your head to… oh, I don't know… **bite** me, or something…?")_

Funny that when there was nothing but passion in it he could get away with it; for vengeful purposes, and Slade would have none of it.

"_Coming…!_" Slade gasped out suddenly. Robin bobbed his head in assent.

"No! Coming… _they are coming…!_" Slade said through gritted teeth.

Robin blinked. Released his mouthful. Looked up at him, his masked eyes wide.

"What do you-?"

Slade suddenly stood, still unzipped (and all the rest) and kicked Robin backwards to the floor. The boy landed heavily and struggled to right himself as Slade came after him, reaching down for him even as he did so.

"_You!_" He panted breathlessly. "Belt unbuckled. Pants down. Hands and knees. _Now!_"

Robin hesitated, then obeyed quickly, fumbling clumsily with his belt buckle and zip in his haste. Again, the nagging thought that Slade was leading him blindfolded into another of his devious traps came to his dulled mind. His sudden desperation, not allowing Robin to finish the oral torture he seemed to have been enjoying immensely, his utterance of "They're coming,"… Who were _they? _Did Slade refer to his semen in third-person plural now, or was there something far more sinister at play?

It was also apparent to him that Slade was still angry with him. He had learned to read the signs in his behavior, and in his specific demands for positions. If he was in an exceptionally good mood – pleased with Robin's progress – he would sit him on top and lie back and allow him to ride him. If he was in a regular mood – irritable but tolerant enough – then he would lie Robin on his back, underneath, and get his kicks that way, face-to-face. And if he was in a bad, vengeful mood, then there would be no luxury or equality about it. Hands and knees. The most degrading position, and the most painful. He would drive into him with a brutality born of pure vindictiveness. It was an assertion of his power over his apprentice, and if it made said apprentice bleed internally and so forth, then so be it. And if said apprentice _refused_, his master would strip and rape him anyway. He really had no choice in the matter.

Robin pulled his shorts and his pants to his knees and got into the position Slade had commanded, took a very deep breath and waited. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in anticipation; the entrance, particularly in this position, was always the most painful part.

Slade knelt behind him, slipping his large hands over Robin's lower back. The ex-Boy Wonder quivered at his touch as his hands moved lower, trailing firmly down onto his ass; and he shuddered as Slade firmly gripped and spread him, and as the tip of his length touched his entrance – tender from Slade's furious goings at him only the night before.

Slade pressed a little way into him, already slicked with semen and spit. Robin winced, bowing his head; he would soon get used to it, but it always hurt unbearably at first, especially since Slade had practically ripped him open that first night and as they had been going at it like the last two rabbits on Earth ever since, he had not been able to heal. Even so, he was still tight, and his opening tried to close as Slade pushed into him, cutting into him like a rubber band.

"_Mmm…!_" Slade gasped at it, then got himself under control. "_No_, Robin… open up again…" He forced him wide apart once more, hearing the boy stifle some kind of pained sob.

Ignoring his protest, Slade surged right forwards into him, seating himself fully inside the quivering body beneath him. His large hands clasped around Robin's shoulders as he began to drive into him, slowly at first—

And as usual Robin's whines and sobs became moans as each thrust became slicker and easier on him. He bucked and writhed so that Slade had to really cling onto him, banging into him with a blinding brutality. But there was some kind of icy-cool control to it too.

Like Slade was _waiting_ for something.

Still, it mattered nothing to Robin; at least not right _now_…

Not now.

* * *

See that purple button down there? You'd best be pressing it even as you read this… :D

Kidding… but seriously, we hope you liked this one. It's a little different to all the others. In my own words in referring to _Black Magic…_ "Stuff HAPPENS!"… It's a pretty nasty cliff-hanger, but Narroch06 and I will get cracking on the other "half" (of the sex-session at least) as soon as we get a satisfactory response.

So like I said, get pressing that lil' purple button…

Ah, yes, as promised… Does anyone remember (and did anyone _read_) a one-shot of mine about two months ago, entitled _Run To You_? It was RobinxStarfire, but moreover RobinxSlade; and it was a song-fic to Bryan Adams' _Run To You_. Unfortunately, being a song-fic, it fell victim to the big oogie-boogie devourer-of-innocent-fanfics a.k.a THE SITE ADMINS! They tore it down and sent me a whiny email saying "You can't post up song-lyrics, blahblahblah…". Irritating, especially as my RobinxRaven one-shot _Underneath Your Clothes_ (to the Shakira song of the same name) met the same fate (I am never gonna let that, BTW; it got **20** reviews…).

Anyway, to get back on track, _Run To You_ is _back_… WITHOUT the lyrics, in the form of Part One of a brand-new three-part co-written piece by Narroch06 and myself. It's called _Love Over Gold_ and if the above just wasn't enough for your regular "Narroch06 and RobinRocks _RobinxSlade_ Fix", check it out. It involves Robin cheating on Star for Slade, as anyone who read the original one-shot will know…

It's on my profile and you should review it because it only has nine and Part Three won't be going up if it doesn't get some more…

Have a nice day:)

- RobinRocks, the Boy-love Wonder xXx


	13. Only Fools Rush In

Hey there everybody! Thank you for tuning into Small Print for its glorious release of chapter twelve! (fanfare, confetti, fireworks…) For the author notes we decided to do things a little differently. Instead of RobinRocks' usual mile long rant, you all get to hear from me! Narroch06 (That's pronounced "nar-rock" folks!), the other half of this shared project. I bet some of you out there didn't even know I existed… No matter. We both felt that it was about time I stop hiding, especially since my profile isn't the most enlightening biography out there…Ahem…well let's see, in this chapter a lot happens, and um…we had to work really hard on this, which is why it took so long to get out. You wouldn't BELIEVE all the OOCness that was in the first drafts, we had to beat it off with a sparking cattle prod! We both sincerely hope that we managed to get it all…

This final version is actually only half of what we had planned for this chapter. We had to cut it down (several times) because it was getting to be a gargantuan chapter, and we didn't want to make your eyes bleed. Just remember the 20 rule, every twenty minutes look away from the screen for twenty seconds at something twenty feet away and that will keep you from straining your eyes. I should know after all of the hours we spent working on this.

Please do enjoy and remember to leave a review! Your comments are what keep us going! Seriously!

Well…I guess that's it from my end, you got anything you wanna say RR?

**Yuh-huh, just to clarify the above; Narroch06 really _does_ exist, she's not just a figment of my imagination… And uh, yes, it took AGES, so you had better appreciate it, you ingrates! One thing I think is discovered _myself_ when I was writing the very last part of the chapter (the crazy bit with all the quotes from the show) was that this fic is not truly about sex. Yes, it's in there, and it's explicit, because that's what you _want_ (and we have fun writing it, right, Narroch?). But this fic is the story of the tainting and destruction of a good person; I really only came to that conclusion myself while re-watching _Masks_ and _Apprentice Pts I _and_ II_ for "research" purposes. And so, if you bear that in mind while reading, I think it will suddenly have a lot more meaning. Think of the animated version of Robin how he actually _is_ in the show (how brave, good, bossy – and even a little _arrogant_ – he is) and then _compare_ him to this version. That's what I did and suddenly what I was writing seemed to make a whole lot more sense…**

**Hence the slightly scarily-written ending.**

**Secondly… we have _another_ AMV! Yes, created by the brilliant Coolteenzz, it's to _Crawling_ by Linkin Park and is BEAUTIFUL. It even has lines from the fic in it… More about that down below, including a link-type thing…**

**For now… a yummy chapter dedicated to Coolteenzz (you're all gonna be jealous!).**

**Because I said so. Wa ha ha.**

Only Fools Rush In

Dark waves of sensitivity washed over the building, the invisible substance spreading out like smoke, silent, curling, omnipresent; a mute warning of the fire to come. The feathery insubstantial feelers crept into every crack, seeped under every door, leaked _through_ every wall. Perception filling the rooms one by one.

Searching… probing… seeking…

The misty antennae coiled back sharply as they brushed over the presence that they sought. Coming into contact with it was like flicking one's finger through a flame. Harmless for an instant, painful for any longer. But now that they had come in contact, the presence was like the metaphorical candle in another way.

Easy to find in a dark place.

"Have you got him, Ray?"

Raven gazed over her shoulder at Cyborg – who had spoken, she thought, out of turn – her eyes narrowed within the shadow of her hood.

"_Got him?_" She repeated, monotone. "Please, Cyborg… you cannot _miss_ his aura. Not now. Now that he's so…"

"Screwed-up?" Beast Boy offered, muttering it darkly.

Cyborg cuffed him across the back of the head.

"Will you stuff a sock in it, BB?" He growled, nodding in Starfire's direction.

The alien girl had, however, not heard any of the exchange that was going on just a few feet below her. Her eyes were wild, angry and flaming-green; her fists were clenched and encompassed by that similar emerald glow. She hovered those few feet above her team-mates, focused on the mission. Her underlying savagery – that of a Tamaranean warrior – had only sought to intensify from her last encounter.

_Kill. Slade_.

Her heart ached for Robin; like someone was violently wringing it out to dry while still in her chest. Seeing him again, and seeing what he had become. His hair. His clothes. His body. His face. His personality.

Nothing.

He was not the same. It was unbearable.

And she would—

"We're drawing near," Raven said more decisively as Cyborg came to her side, Beast Boy not far behind.

"Just Robin?" Cyborg pressed. "Is he alone?"

"No, I can…" Raven closed her eyes and concentrated again. "No." Her violet eyes opened again. "No, he's not alone. He's… I think he's with Slade."

They all sneaked a glance at Starfire on this. She had not moved; simply floating there, her hair touched by the cool night breeze, her eyes and hands blazing jade.

"Is she-?" Beast Boy started in a not-so-confidential whisper.

"She's _fine_," Cyborg interrupted. "She'll be fine. _Everything_ will be fine. We're going to get him back. Take him home. Take him back to where he _belongs_."

Raven nodded solemnly in agreement.

"With _us_."

_With **us**. With the Teen Titans. That's where he belongs—_

* * *

"Sl… _Slade_…!"

Robin moaned it, breathless, his voice catching in his throat as though he was about to cry.

"_Silence_, boy…"

Robin gave a whimpering little gasp and closed his eyes. Slade smiled at his obedience, savoring his slow, torturous pace. Robin was suffering, but enjoying that suffering _so_ much…

_Just_ what he liked to see.

"_Coming_ soon," he whispered silkily in the teenager's ear.

But he did not say _what_ was coming.

Robin simply nodded, biting his bottom lip against the pain in his hands and knees. He _hated_ this position; but Slade _knew_ that, of course. And he only forced Robin _into_ this position whenever he had angered him; or if he was feeling sadistic; or if he just felt like humiliating him. If he just felt like _hurting_ him more than was necessary. Fulfilling his impulse to dominate.

"_Make me proud tonight_…" Slade whispered; he breathed into Robin's left ear – the one that still ached – and the ex-Boy Wonder squirmed underneath him. "Make me proud… and I will reward you… unlike _anything_ you have ever _dreamt_ of…"

He thrust in harder than ever to emphasize the word "dreamt"; Robin exhaled quickly and heavily, his vision blacking out for a brief moment before coming back.

"What… do you-?"

"Be _silent!_" Slade slapped him across the back of the head, near knocking him out.

Robin shook his aching head clear, sniffling.

"I-"

"_Silent!_"

He slammed into the boy with such force to accentuate the word that Robin actually buckled underneath him and landed on his face. Slade collapsed on top of him, still inside him, and simply regained his rhythm and carried on from that position; Robin on his stomach on the cold hard concrete floor, Slade on top grinding into him. But then Robin actually _dared_ to struggle; and Slade grasped his wrist and twisted it up behind his back, jerking pressure on it with every thrust.

But Robin knew better than to protest by now. Slade didn't seem to want him talking; and he had suffered twice for disobeying already. A third time… and he might just wind up with a broken arm. He had learned the hard way that Slade never made empty threats.

So he kept quiet; bit his lip and kept the moans of pleasure and the screams of pain in.

Slade seemed to grow more excited, the crescendo building and heaving them upwards to sensations that were so domineering and high, a perfect view of their transformation…

_The universal Murphy chuckled gleefully to himself, anarchy ringing in his laughter as his law was verified once again. And then—_

There was a sudden loud explosion from the far end of the room; the steel-reinforced doors, blown in by it, were sent scraping and clattering across the concrete floor while clouds of smoke and dust billowed from the doorway.

Slade didn't even blink; behind his mask, his mouth twisted into a wry, cruel smile. He could barely contain his anticipation, a wolf licking its chops as it smelled blood and knew of the carnage to come.

Startled, however, Robin tried to turn his head to see what the source of the explosion was.

His gaze met only dark cold concrete as Slade firmly put his hand at the back of his head and pushed his face into the floor; his other hand still held Robin's arm behind his back.

"I _told_ you that _they_ were _coming_…" Slade's voice was soft and malicious and _delighted_, right next to Robin's aching ear. There were horrible inflections on the selected words of the utterance.

_They…?_

Robin's stomach broke free of its organic chain and rapidly sank in a cold twisting spiral as he realized the game that Slade had been playing at…

…and realized what _they_ would _see_.

The smoke had not cleared. They had not seen… _yet_.

"Robin?"

Cyborg.

"Robin, where are you?"

Beast Boy.

"Robin!"

Raven.

"Robin? It is us, your friends! We have come to take you home!"

Starfire.

After all of the torture he had gone through, just when he had _finally _been able to accept that life was a biting snarling _bitch_ and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, she went and had a litter of hell hound puppies. Robin whined in desperation and tried to shrink beneath Slade, who was still pulsing inside him.

"No, Robin," Slade hissed. "Do not hide from it. You must let them _see_… Let them _see_ what you have truly _become_…"

He could not help but cry out as Slade began to ram in and out of him again, harder than ever—

And the cry that they recognized was what drew them past the smoke to the place on the floor, in the shadows…

They froze; their eyes wide; their murderous assault scraped to a halt like a jammed record as their reality hiccupped and then promptly jumped off a cliff, leaving them with a macabre nightmare. The truth emerged in the cold geometry of irrefutable fact mixed with flares of horror so brilliant and disturbing that it was as if they were staring into a discolored alien sun.

Cyborg blinked.

Beast Boy gaped.

Raven gasped.

Starfire stood in absolute _horror_, her green eyes so wide it looked painful.

Slade… he was…

…_mercilessly_…

…and _Robin_, he was…

…and…

…he was… _enjoying_ it…?

…

Slade was fucking Robin so hard and deep and fast that… yes, there was _blood_…

And _Robin_… was _moaning_… with _pleasure_…

For more than a few moments the Teen Titans stood there; sickened, shocked and utterly spellbound by the scene being played before them as their own innocence and expectations were abruptly sliced apart with each lewd movement.

They were paralyzed by their own shock as they numbly waited for their reality to crawl back up from wherever it had fallen and restore itself over the hellish imposter. They waited, until Robin struggled to tilt his head back against Slade's puissant grip with a barely contained moan and they saw the expression on his face.

And then, something snapped; nerves. Tension. Silence broken by labored moans and breathing—the sudden almost audible break which whipped the ends around the room and stirred the Teen Titans from their stunned state.

"_Robin!_"

Warming up her hands and eyes, Starfire leapt into the air and soared headlong at master and apprentice; the others not far behind her—

Slade released Robin's head and the boy jerked it from the floor to look up at the oncoming assault from his former team-mates and—

"_Stop!_" He screamed.

And they did. They froze again. Watching him.

Slade had stopped his _own_ assault again; now he sat back, still inside the boy's small lithe body, straddling him, his lazy, amused gaze not on his apprentice, but on said apprentice's ex-friends.

Robin laid his head on the concrete floor, gasping for breath. He didn't take his eyes off them. His heart hammered desperately in his chest; and not _just_ because of the activity he had previously been engaged in.

No; because he knew… that Slade had been planning this.

And he knew that they were in danger. The single outcome that could break through his ecstasy hazed mind and temporarily smack the Stockholm Syndrome right out of him.

"You… you have to… stay back…" Robin told them breathlessly, angry and frightened and ashamed all at once. Angry at them for showing up; frightened for their safety; and _so_ ashamed of the position – quite literally _position_ – in which they had found him. "Because he'll…" Robin lifted his head again. "You have to _leave_…"

He stifled the pained gasp as Slade calmly and discreetly exerted more pressure on his twisted arm. His master's free hand was at his right hip – bare, with his shorts and pants bunched at his upper thighs – rubbing small circles against the bone, but not with his fingers.

With the trigger.

Robin closed his eyes for a second, trying to clear his spinning head. He could still feel Slade throbbing within him, and was aware of his _own_ aching heat _down there_. He could feel every pore dripping with sweat, heart pumping adrenaline and a potent cocktail of other chemicals through his veins with all the palpitating vigor it could muster, he could _almost_ feel the floor tipping under him as his world was turned upside down. He was panicked and confused and getting mixed signals all over the place. Plugs were going in the wrong sockets, smoking in irritation when the connection wasn't made. Slade, the Titans, his body, and his cracked mind were all prodding him to do something, _anything._ But he couldn't. He was a deer caught in the headlights of a truck; terrified, blind, and ready to die.

And while his internal four way tug-of-war raged, they simply stood there, still, aghast and speechless. Couldn't they see how _hard_ this was for him?

There was a long, painful silence—

"You heard my apprentice," Slade said finally, his voice dripping in silken venom.

Still rubbing that cursed trigger against his hip bone.

"Your presence makes him uncomfortable. Isn't that _right_, Robin?" On "right" he exerted just a little more torturous pressure on Robin's twisted arm. Robin bit his lip and nodded crazily, hoping that they would see how in earnest he was and leave.

They did nothing of the sort.

Cyborg fired up his cannon and raised it. Beast Boy uttered a low, inhuman growl and dropped his stance to one nearer the ground, ready to transform. Raven's eyes whited out and glowed eerily, while Starfire's flared jade.

Seeing the familiar battle formation jolted up the vivid memories of his time as a Titan. He should _be_ there. Right at the front. In his red, yellow and green; the poster boy of all that was right and good. His eyes should be narrowed in… _righteous fury _reminiscent of Starfire's… His cape should be waving behind him, he should be standing strong and proud, his mouth a determined little line, his Bo staff should be clutched tightly in his green fist. He should be standing there, yes, at the front of his team, leading them to victory, the god of godless gods…

Why _not_, then?

Why did those two words still imprinted on his brain – "Titans, _Go_!" – no longer spill from his lips?

Because…

Because he wasn't _there_ anymore. And, more to the point, he didn't have the _right_ to be there anymore. He wasn't a _hero_ anymore. He wasn't the poster boy anymore; he wasn't the Boy Wonder anymore. He wasn't a Teen Titan anymore…

Hell, he was hardly _Robin_ anymore. The blatant gap in the team clearly showed just how far he had fallen.

He lowered his head again, still breathing hard, feeling the painful lump rising in his throat. He felt the tears prickling at his eyes and looked at the concrete floor with his vision blurred by them…

He couldn't even _look_ at them.

He felt Slade reach underneath his ribcage and hoist him upright, so that he was on his knees, his back pressed against Slade's chest. He groaned inwardly, the action weary, as he realized that _they_ could now see his erection.

If they had thought Slade was simply _raping_ him…

…their opinions had now certainly been revised. And they had seen just how complicated this whole matter had become.

Because it _was_ complicated; had they burst in here two months ago, on the first night of his being stolen away, there would have been no problem. They could have kicked Slade's ass, taken Robin home and that would have been the end of it. The rape might have traumatized him, but he wouldn't have been in _this_ state, certainly. Even if they had rescued him on the _second_ night, or the _third_… a _week_ later, even _two_… maybe even at the end of the first _month_…

They might have been able to _save_ him from what he had become. But now? It was too late.

Far, _far_ too late.

Robin hung his head limply, utterly drained and dejected, as Slade held him to his chest. The hand holding the trigger had slipped around; Robin shivered as he felt the cold metal now being rubbed against his erect boyhood. To _them_ – because Slade had that trigger hidden so carefully in his hand – it probably looked as though Slade was just caressing his cock.

Almost _lovingly_.

But it wasn't that at all. Slade was threatening him; giving him a warning. A sadistic "You'd better obey or you know what will happen" warning. Robin sniffled miserably and blinked away the tears in his eyes.

Of _course_ he would obey. He would not watch them die.

Because he remembered those chilling words of all but two months ago… The _sealing_ of the deal;

_("…But… if you disobey even the smallest request, I will annihilate them, Robin. And I'll make you watch…")_

…And then there was the _small print_.

Which was a completely _different_ story.

"Going to put on a little _show_ for them, Robin?" Slade murmured in his ear, his voice soft as down.

"Robin, whatever _poison_ he's whispering in your ear, _don't_ listen to it!" Cyborg ordered icily from where he was standing back with the other Titans, his cannon raised and humming murder.

"Dear me, Cyborg…" Slade raised his gaze to meet with that of the half-robot. "You would accuse me of such a thing? Of _corrupting_ our _dear_ Robin here?" The tone was sarcastic, dripping with both venom and amusement.

"Sick…" Cyborg growled under his breath and clenched his free fist.

"Who's sick? _I'm_ sick for fucking him, _Robin_ is sick for _allowing_ me to fuck him, or _you're_ sick for watching? You need to be more specific when everyone is guilty."

"Tell me _again_ why we aren't _kicking_ your tail," Cyborg demanded angrily, ignoring the cheerful scorn in Slade's comment. Raven placed a hand on his metal shoulder to calm him.

From where she was standing, she could sense Robin's intense discomfort; his _fear_. What before had been simply a flame had grown into a conflagration of emotions and she did not need her powers to know that his fear was not for _himself_; it was for _them_.

Slade stroked Robin's hair in a mock-loving fashion; and he smirked as he saw his friends, particularly the alien girl, quiver with anger and disgust.

"Why? Because Robin does not _want_ you to," he purred. "And if you value his life, as well as your _own_, I suggest you stay where you are."

"We aren't afraid of _anything_ you threaten!" Beast Boy retorted, giving more confidence to his words than what he truly felt.

"Maybe _you_ aren't," Slade replied softly; "But I assure you… _Robin_ is…"

Robin panted, sick with fear for them; the rubbing of the trigger against his erection was becoming harder and more deliberate.

"_Please stop the game_," he pleaded underneath his breath. "I'll do whatever you want… you _know_ I will…"

"I know _you_ will," Slade agreed softly. "But will _they_?"

"They will… if I tell them to…"

"_Mmm_?"

Slade chuckled, the sound barely audible.

"_Prove_ it to me…"

He gave a sudden hard thrust of his hand and Robin moaned and arched his back; he wasn't able to _help_ it.

Something in Starfire which had been barely restrained throughout the dialogue had reached the breaking point and she started once more for master and apprentice; and the others following her lead—

"I told you to _stop_!" Robin yelled at them angrily. He flung his arm out, using his palm as a sign for them to halt in their tracks; and, surprised by his second outburst, they obeyed him. "_Don't move_…" He was breathless with the pleasure that had just cascaded over him and the fear and the anger. Every conflicting feeling that was churning around inside him only made him weary. "…Don't move unless… you want to _die_."

"Robin…" Cyborg started, lowering his arm.

"Dude…" Beast Boy added softly.

"…You _threatening_ us?" Cyborg finished.

Robin hung his head again; he could not bring himself to look at them once more.

"_Robin_ isn't threatening you at all, Titans," Slade hissed, turning his head to look at them again. "_I_ am. He implores you not to move because he fears deeply for your lives."

"You cannot do _anything_ to us!" Starfire burst out angrily.

Slade turned his chilled gaze solely on her.

"On the contrary, my dear… I already _have_."

He nodded at the monitors – glowing orange – still situated on the far wall.

"Nanoscopic probes," he informed them as they all turned to look at the monitors. "In each and every one of you…"

The Teen Titans stood, their faces bathed in orange light, horrified, as they each saw their own screen; with their names and statistics and readouts of vital signs…

CYBORG.

STARFIRE.

BEAST BOY.

RAVEN.

Showing their bloodstreams… and attached to each and every tiny red blood cell was a minuscule silver probe, marked with a infinitesimal "S".

"With the push of a button, I can destroy you Titans whenever I want; my probes will activate and kill you from the inside out, causing a massive stroke throughout your entire body," Slade explained languidly, even though they were not looking at him. "Of course, Robin didn't want _that_, and so was eager to make a bargain. _His freedom_… in exchange for _your_ _lives_." He rubbed Robin's shoulders as the boy quivered, fighting tears. "And a _handsome_ deal it was too; wouldn't you agree, Titans? Ah, what you have _lost_ to me… one willing to give up _everything_ he has ever held sacred, merely to preserve your wretched lives. I do hope you _appreciate_ that…"

One by one, the Teen Titans slowly turned back to what was a truly abhorrent sight; Robin on his knees, Slade knelt behind him; the former still sexually excited, and the latter equally so, still _inside_ his young apprentice. Yet, they even ignored that now, because they suddenly knew the reason for it.

"Robin… this is… _true_?" Starfire asked tentatively.

Robin looked away from her, tears fiercely welling in his eyes, making them sting.

"It _is_…" Cyborg's voice was hushed with shock and awe and horror. "Jeez…"

"Robin… dude… you did this for _us_?" Beast Boy asked hoarsely.

"A noble gesture indeed, hm, shape-shifter?" Slade cut in, his voice laced with underlying mockery.

The shape-shifter in question turned steely eyes on the masked villain; the expression so hard and furious that Slade had to admit (to himself) that it surprised him.

For it was a _Robin_ expression.

"I was talking to _Robin_!" Beast Boy snapped.

Slade's eye widened in amusement. He brought up the hand that didn't hold the trigger and Robin's erection and slipped it over the boy's mouth.

"Well, Robin isn't _allowed_ to talk to _you_," he replied tartly. "It was, as I remember, part of the deal; that he was never to speak to any of you again. I have, however, allowed him leniency enough for him to be able to warn you of your fates should you continue to flaunt my will; that same leniency is, as of now, _expired_."

His single stone-gray eye narrowed venomously.

"You will _leave_, Titans, or you will _perish_."

"Yeah, _sure_ we'll leave," Cyborg spat. "Right after we whip your hide and take Robin with us!"

"You have _no right_ to keep him here against his will!" Starfire burst out angrily.

"_Haven't_ I?" Slade sounded highly amused. "You'd like to think so, wouldn't you, alien?"

He gave a heavy, bored-sounding sigh.

"The truth is, girl, I am not so sure that Robin _is_ being kept here against his _will_. Perhaps, at first, he resented his capture and attempted to escape, but _now_…?" Slade laughed slightly; in a way that sent a shiver through the four Teen Titans. "I'm afraid your rescue attempt is rather too late." He stroked Robin's length some more, feeling him writhe against him; still gagged by his hand. "Robin no longer _desires_ to be rescued… In fact, I have reason to believe that your presence here… rather _irks_ him…"

Robin made a muffled sound through Slade's fingers, but his audience could not tell if it was a mew of pleasure or some kind of protest at Slade's last statement.

"Now, _Robin_…" Slade purred in his ear. "You know the _rules_…" Each "r" sound was richly accentuated, as though velvet-lined.

Robin gestured feebly with his hand in the direction of his (ex) friends.

"Oh, I _see_…" Slade whispered intimately. "You want them to _leave_?"

Robin nodded.

"Well, I think that could be arranged…" Slade removed his hand from Robin's cock, trigger and all, and held it up so that the Teen Titans could see it. "Titans, your life hangs in a balance. If you have _any_ respect whatsoever for what Robin has sacrificed for your worthless wellbeing, you will leave now – _without_ him – and without another word."

He brushed his thumb lightly over the trigger and Robin strained against the hand gagging him.

"And if you do _not_," Slade continued banefully, "then rest assured that his sacrifice will have been in vain…"

"We're not—" Cyborg started impenitently.

"—Going—" Beast Boy added.

"—_Without him_!" Starfire finished furiously.

Raven said nothing; repeating her mantra over and over again to keep her blazing anger in check.

Slade smiled beneath his mask.

"I was rather _hoping_ you would say that…" His thumb pressed down lightly on the trigger, not _quite_ initiating the probes' destructive sequence, but _almost_. "May it be on your own heads…"

He suddenly sharply withdrew his hand from Robin's mouth with a barely-concealed hiss of pain; Robin had bitten him through the leather of his glove.

Furious, Slade grasped Robin's hair and twisted it, yanking his head back; earning a sharp gasp from the boy.

"_How dare you_—" he started angrily.

"Please don't hurt them!" Robin begged, near tears. "_Don't kill them, please!_ Please, don't… I'll do anything; _I'll_ take the punishment… please, _please_…"

Slade's (vaguely) amiable mood returned at the plea.

"You'd take the punishment for them? For their disobedience, for their petulance, for their _disrespect_…?"

Robin nodded tearfully.

"_You know… I would_…"

Slade nodded in supercilious agreement, as the snake in the grass silently slithered forward.

"Very well, apprentice… as you desire…"

Slade unexpectedly pushed Robin forward, forcing him to catch himself one handed as Slade hauled his other arm back even further. Robin let loose a horribly loud wrenching scream as the limb was held in the excruciating position with the bones creaking their threat to snap if he pulled it back another inch; Slade leaned over and instead violently shoved the locked up arm forward.

The painful 'pop' was audible even to the Titans across the room. It was the kind of sound that makes one cringe; a transferable feeling like fingernails being bent backwards, or a swift kick in the shin. A completely recognizable noise which made their own shoulders _ache_ in commiseration.

Robin's scream was abruptly cut off by the dislocation. No scream he could have produced would have appropriately displayed the amount of pain he was in from this new form of 'punishment'. It had been a surprise move, and so the scream he had already been working on crashed with the brusque intake of breath for this new sensation; the resulting wreck left him softly gagging on the pain.

Whatever invisible force had been holding the Titans back from attacking was ushered away by the quiet strangled sound Robin was making and by the sight of Slade dropping his right arm, letting the now useless limb flop to the floor at a grotesque angle.

No signature battle-cry was needed as Beast Boy's volcanic lion's roar overpowered everything, the rest of the team following up with their own enraged versions of his primal cry. They surged forward, eager to rip/blast/crush Slade into tiny bite sized chunks and then possibly stick his remains in a blender and hit _Puree_.

Their plans for a 'Slade smoothie' however, were suddenly shattered by a strange and unwelcome burning in their veins. Without warning, their muscles seized up, dropping them all to the floor and instantly halting their assault. Then the pain kicked in as the probes in their blood began to clot up; their traitorous bloodstreams throwing clots everywhere, lodging with ruthless efficiency and cutting off the blood supply. Liver, kidney, lungs, hands, feet, and brain were all jammed with clots. Their muscles were immobilized by them, and their bodies slowly deteriorated from the massive coagulation taking place within.

Slade chuckled at how easy it would be to destroy them. He knew he only needed to wait for the lack of blood flow to kill off the internal organs one by one. The intestines would slack, the connective tissues would erode, the heart would strain too hard, while the sphincter would relax too much. Every body part in the way most suited to it would utterly fail.

In the end, as tiny spots in their brains began to liquefy, higher levels of consciousness winking out first as their personalities were wiped away by brain damage, they would become automatons. Almost like living zombies before their hearts finally gave out.

But their horribly painful deaths were not his goal. He could – and _would_ – stop the process before it got that far, only causing enough damage to briefly immobilize them and their pesky sense of justice.

Their silent and unmoving witness to Robin's decadence was the _real_ punishment he was after.

He felt said apprentice yelling and struggling under him, despite the severe pain of his dislocated shoulder which only grew worse the longer the ball was out of its socket.

"SLADE! You said you wouldn't hurt them! You said I would take the punishment! Stop it, _please_! _Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit, STOP!" _

Robin's tirade grew louder and more frantic until on the last syllable Slade calmly and slowly shut the probes off. Robin saw his friends twitching and clenched muscles relax through his tear blurred vision. They all crumpled on the floor and remained motionless, their glossy eyes still fixed on him.

"I spared their wretched lives; now it's time for your _real_ punishment to begin. It's nice being able to plunder your beautiful body without those annoying interruptions, isn't it?"

"_Shut up!_" Robin snapped aggressively. "Just get it _over_ with!"

Slade chuckled softly.

"I will soon enough, dear apprentice," he murmured. "Oh, and for the record… you're going to be _very_ sorry you told _me_ to _shut up_…"

"They can kill you," Robin muttered, looking at the floor.

"And I them," Slade whispered in reply. "But you _know_ that…"

"_Yes_…"

"Well then…"

Slade put his hand to the back of Robin's head and pushed him closer to the ground, despite Robin's resistance. He ended up resting all his weight on his left forearm and elbow, while his rear was still elevated and impaled by Slade's erection.

"Not like this…" Robin whined under his breath.

"But of course," Slade purred in his ear. "If you're going to be humiliated in front of your friends, we might as well do it right, hmm?"

His hands slipped across Robin's stomach again, pressing against him to hold him still. And he began to gently build his rhythm up again, thrusting and rolling his hips against the boy, breaking him in all over again with a sudden tenderness that was uncharacteristic of the masked man.

It had the desired effect on Robin, though. In front of his friends, Slade did not want to make it seem as though Robin was in pain, for that would make it look as though he was being _raped_. Slade didn't want that at all; he didn't want the Titans to think that he often _hurt_ Robin.

Not to save his _own_ image – he cared little if the Titans thought him capable of raping a teenage boy. So _no_, it was not to save his _own_ face; it was to destroy _Robin's_.

If Robin screamed and cried in pain, they would sympathize with him, hug him, welcome him.

But if he moaned in pleasure, if he _begged_ for Slade to go harder and faster… they would be _disgusted_ by him.

Which was precisely what Slade wanted.

For them to not _want_ him back. That would be final nail in the coffin; that would surely make Robin _his_. The despair and dejection of knowing that even those who were his friends – those who he had sold himself for in the _first_ place – no longer wanted to associate themselves with him, they were so disgusted by what he had become…

Oh yes; there was an awful lot of small print that Robin had overlooked.

Robin choked back a gasp of pleasure as Slade pushed deeper into him; and Slade smiled as the boy gave an involuntary buck of his hips as _he_ neared the sensitive area deep within him that was his prostate.

Robin cursed himself inwardly, burning with shame and anger. He focused his blurred gaze straight down; at the concrete floor. Concentrating on his screaming shoulder, trying to use the stabbing pain to sober himself up and block the pleasure Slade was creating in him.

Trying to concentrate on anything but _them_. Trying to imagine that they were not there, that this was just another one of Slade's tricks.

His denial failed horribly since he could physically feel their gazes burning through him, their memories of him tainted and ripped away as he also failed at trying to deny the sensations racing through him. Instead of covering over his sexual arousal, the fiery pain from his shoulder only seemed to intensify the pleasure. Giving him something to counter it with and thus making the final sensation sharper and even more enjoyable.

Starfire gave a horrified little gasp as she watched that small buck of Robin's hips; and as she saw the blood making its way down the backs of his thighs. She managed to turn her face away, but could not block out the grunts and moans they were both emitting, the sounds of flesh slapping up against flesh. In her mind's eye she could still see the way his mouth was hanging slightly open, the way he threw his head back and his hair flipped up like wings, the way he sweated and arched his body into the touch, totally overcome by the feeling of the marauding madman. She belatedly realized that this was the way she always imagined him to be with _her_.

Riveted by her touch as they made beautiful love to each other.

That such a potent and unfettered reaction derived from _Slade's_ ministrations made Starfire want to—

_Scream_…

While Robin was having difficultly ignoring the Titans, Slade seemed to find it contrarily effortless. He fell into his own thrusting rhythm with ease, building it up in pace and tempo, pushing down against Robin so that his elbows and knees _ached_ with every thrust of the older man against his own smaller body.

And he bit back the squeaks and mewls of pleasure with a fierce determination; he would not let _them_ hear them.

But that task was becoming more and more difficult. With every plunge Slade's movement against him became slicker; easier; warmer. He hated it because _it_ was what driven him so far down into this mess; if only he had been able to resist, Slade could not threaten him as he did now. They could just have turned up and…

And _what_?

He bowed his head because he couldn't understand _anything_ anymore; nothing made any _sense_ to him…

Nothing but the _feeling_ of this. The basic desire for pleasure which drives all humans.

But did he truly _want_ this? Did he want it anymore? Had he even wanted it in the _first_ place?

_("Please, Slade… It wasn't part of the deal…"_

"_That damn small print, huh? Nobody ever reads it… until it's too late…")_

He remembered the first night. The first time. The first _rape_. Tears welled in his eyes and slid down his face.

_It's for them. **For them**. _

Slade's hand slipped down to the boy's neglected erection and began to massage him again, his hand moving with the rhythm of his hips. The constant nudging of his prostate in tandem with the petting of his length made Robin moan aloud once more.

Having already been in the process of fucking before the Titans entered, Robin was already close to climax. However, Slade's thrusts were becoming slower and shallower; his hand was becoming limp and lazy.

Suddenly he stopped moving altogether.

Robin moaned in irritation. He had almost _made_ it; he had been _so_ close.

But he knew what Slade wanted him to do, and he knew that if he _didn't_, Slade would simply fire up the probes again.

His humiliation now seemed insignificant compared to his friends' lives, which were no longer hypothetical threats that Slade conjured up. Robin had always had the sneaking feeling that perhaps Slade had never implanted the probes to begin with. That perhaps all his threats were simply computer simulations. A cheap trick like he had pulled when forcing Robin into accepting his first blowjob.

However, that wasn't a possibility any longer. He had seen the brutal effects of Slade's probes, and he had seen his friends. They were concrete, their screams were real, their pain was real, and their _deaths_ would be real too if he didn't do something to appease his master.

So he just did what his body was naturally telling him to do anyway.

On one level, he still wanted to please his master.

On another level he just wanted the release that Slade had led him teasingly close to and then refused to complete.

So he moved his hips back to continue the motion inside him, and used his voice to compel Slade to continue stroking him as he descended to the lowest of the low within his personal hell.

"_Please…"_

Slade smiled.

"_Please_?" He repeated, his voice silkily innocent. "Please _what_, my Robin? What is it that you plead for?"

"Please…" Robin whined again despairingly. "You have… to…"

"I have to _what_?"

"R… _release_…!" Robin choked it out, his voice catching. "Help me… _please_… y-you _have_ to…"

Slade's hand caressed Robin's stomach; heaving as he breathed deeply and desperately.

"Do I indeed?" He purred; and as Robin had heard countless times before, the statement did not truly have the interrogative rise on the end of it that made it a question.

"_Please_…" Robin begged raggedly, pushing right back; forcing Slade further and further into him until it was though a wall had been hit. Their bodies stopped Slade from being pushed any deeper; their shapes hit and grinded because they wouldn't fit any closer together. Like a key in a lock – eventually, with continuous motion, it fits so tightly it cannot move any more.

Fresh blood came with that collision.

A fresh grimace and a fresh gasp, followed by a fresh moan.

"_Please_…" He whispered it now, tears streaming down his pale face.

"Could you say that a little louder?" Slade hissed in reply, seeing another opening for the game. "I can't quite… _hear you…_"

Another game. Another trap.

One which Robin – already blindfolded – walked right into.

"Please…" He moaned it more loudly. "_M-move_…"

"Ah…" Slade started to slide very meticulously back out of him. "You want me to move… _away_?"

"No!" Robin's tone was hoarse and startled. "In… out… _anywhere_…!"

Still he felt Slade slipping back out of his body, the blood and spit and semen making it painless _(in comparison to everything else)_ and barely noticeable.

But _Robin_ noticed.

"_N-no!_" He shrieked. "No, wait! Please!"

Slade sighed and stopped. Half in; half out.

"We are all a little confused here, Robin," he said calmly. "I _and_ your former friends. You really must specify clearly what it is you want. I don't quite… _understand_…"

More hot tears welled in Robin's eyes.

"You know… what I…"

He whispered it; the words that should have been full of contempt, of irritance and disdain. They were weak; because he had lost his nerve a long time ago. Along with his pride. Along with _everything_.

He could not even manage to step on the _shadow_ of his hatred anymore.

"_Well_, Robin…?"

From off to the side he heard their weak protests. Heard the shifting of their bodies as they struggled to even raise their heads.

But they were _watching_ him. Waiting. Pleading.

"Robin, _no_…"

He heard Starfire and closed his eyes. He looked away even though he could no longer see her.

They _were_ his shadow. The gap in the middle – two on each side, space in between that _he_ should fill – _was_ his shadow.

Shadows are something that cannot be shed. When the light shines they are there; and you can't run because your shadow runs with you. Every step. Every pause for breath. Every glance over your shoulder to see if you have outrun it.

Only _darkness_ can chase a shadow away; they cease to follow and to exist where there is no light at all.

He couldn't face them. Never again. Not like this; not the way he was. This twisted little pretzel of what he once was. This work of art; this masterpiece that had stripped away and painted over all of the original artist's strokes and dabs. Every last piece of the Boy Wonder ripped up and stamped on; a poster torn down to reveal something on the billboard underneath.

Something much, _much_ worse.

So it wasn't a case of _wanting_ to go with them. To take the hand they offered; Starfire's, perhaps, or Cyborg's. They could grip his wrist, and they could haul him to his feet. They could cover his eyes and lead him away.

But could they kiss him all better?

They could not.

He _couldn't_ go with them… because Slade was right. He didn't _belong_ with them anymore.

He had sold himself for them.

And a sale is a sale.

_No refunds_.

He looked at the floor long and hard; ignoring the pain of his dislocated arm and the burning that was Slade's erection plunged halfway into his ass (and the track of it all the way down into him). He tried to piece back together his long-broken determination.

His _drive_. That which had sent the questions spiraling around and around in his head. Weeks and months ago; when he had still been free and _sane_, still clothed in red, yellow and green—

_("…Who is Slade?… You almost got hurt. Next time it could be worse… Nothing. Lead was a dead end… I'm close to a breakthrough… Sure you guys can handle this without me?…")—_

He shut his eyes tighter, heard Slade talking to him but didn't _really_ hear it; couldn't make sense of it because somewhere in his head he was getting a backtrack, a replay of his own muttered words all those months ago when the heat had really gotten on in his search for the elusive one-eyed madman. He saw the masks; he saw the newspapers littering his walls; that one grey eye _laughing and laughing at him… _He remembered the sleepless nights, the nightmares _("We're so very much alike, Robin…")_ and the lies and the secrecy and the underhanded plans; he remembered Red X and how he had hurt them; he remembered the torture and the turmoil and the _tantrums_ he sometimes felt close to throwing because no matter what he did the answers never seemed to come any goddamn _easier_.

Somewhere in the distance too he heard _them_; heard them pleading weakly to him, whispering his name – whispering their promises. That they would _save_ him.

"…_Take my hand and walk away from all of this, my darling Robin—"_

And he remembered the promises from before. The pledges of allegiance. The swearings of eternal camaraderie. The Teen Titans. _(Titans, go!)._ All for one and one for all. United we stand, divided we fall—

Had they _saved_ him?

They had _not_.

Slade had. _Slade_ had—

That night. Back then. When he had masqueraded as Red X; when Slade had blown his cover—

_("…You can't expect me to trust you with such sensitive information right away… can you… **Robin**?…)_

—Slade had knocked him over the edge of the rooftop on which they had been fighting over those damn chips. But Slade had not allowed his screaming plummet towards the cruel sidewalk below to last long; he had lunged forwards, caught his wrist and pulled him to safety.

What had he said?

_("…You… saved me?"_

"_I'm not **through** with you…")_

And he _hadn't_ been. Oh no. Not by a long shot. If he had been "through" with Robin that night…

…then Robin would not be here right _now_, battling the agony of a dislocated shoulder and hacking through (or attempting to) the turmoil of his Stockholm Syndrome and trauma-ravaged mind; he would not be on the floor with his pants around his knees, practically kissing the concrete; painfully sexually aroused and mortified in front of those who had once been his friends.

If Slade had truly been "through" with Robin that night… he would not have his apprentice; and with that, he would not have had those months of cracking the whip—of torturing the boy, humiliating him, bending and molding him into _this_.

The "Robin pretzel".

He owed _them_ nothing. He owed _Slade_ nothing. He owed _himself_ nothing.

No-one had saved him. Slade had taken him, dragged him screaming into the shadows and _drowned_ him in them, and _no-one_ had saved him.

The Titans. Slade. Batman. _Himself_.

_No-one_.

_("…How can you save a city, Robin, when you can't save yourself?…")_

So he looked long and hard at the floor. He gritted his teeth. He felt his eyes burn with yet more saltwater.

And then he spoke…

…perhaps more firmly than he had in weeks. _Months_.

Since his last utterance of "Titans, go!".

"_Finish it_."

And Slade smiled.

Because he knew that the game had been _won_…

**

* * *

Me again, writing in BOLD so you can tell that it is me, not Narroch06 (who DOES exist). Hadn't forgotten me already, right?**

**Right. AMV. It's FANTASTIC. Really and truly, it is. Ironically, I have only seen it once myself, and had to watch it a friend's house because my internet connection _sucks_. But I command you to go watch it. Like I said up top, it's to _Crawling_ by Linkin Park; and yes, I kid you not – there are _actual lines_ from the fic itself in there. How, you ask? Heh heh… Go watch it and you'll see. It's _brilliant_.**

**Now, we all know that THIS SITE HATES putting up links and gets rid of them, so hopefully this will work;**

**www . youtube . com / user / coolteenzz**

**Copy and paste the above into your browser and get rid of all the spaces and it should take you to Coolteenzz's page. Then you can just find _Crawling_/_Small Print_/etc. If not, the video is on YouTube and if you search Coolteenzz, Crawling, Teen Titans, Robin, Slade or Small Print (ALL of those together, probably) you _should_ be able to find it.**

**Well, it sent shivers down _our_ spines…**

…**and perhaps this chapter may have done the same to _you_.**

**Coolteenzz, we thank you profusely! It's beautiful and we both _adore_ it! Thankyou _soooo_ much! Hope you liked your "dedication" (chapter above). Also, everyone knows, but… we have another AMV by Citrus02honey to Evanescence's _Going Under._ So that's _two_ AMVs for you to watch if you haven't checked that out already…**

**More power to us!**

**More soon, lads and luvvies!**

**- RobinRocks AND Narroch06 (who exists)…**

**xXx**


	14. Eye For An Eye

Hello everybody! This is Narroch speaking, and thank you for returning to our tale of sick and twisted debauchery! As always kids, DON"T try this at home. O.o Please don't…that's disturbing on more than one level. We can get away with writing this degenerative filth because it is fanfiction. If this were _actually_ happening, we would be calling the cops, not writing about it.

Well, first of all we would like to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. This is an action-packed bonanza, and action scenes are more of RobinRocks' forte. So of course it worked out that I wrote most of it, and thus it took a long time. (haha) There were some points where I HATED this chapter because it was all action. But we got through it and wow! You all should be proud of me. I never write action stuff well, but this chapter it works (mainly thanks to RR). For the first time I am writing coherent fights that are not just background noises for some psychological turmoil. Well, there IS plenty of psychological turmoil in here, but is not exclusively limited to that as it would have been had I written this by myself. Thank you RobinRocks for getting me out of my internal dialogue shell! Even though I _still_ managed to sneak some philosophy in there, right smack at the beginning, heh heh.

Okay, enough rambling from me. RobinRocks has got an important announcement to make, so listen up!

**Yes, I have indeed! We got ourselves a DeviantART account! A few of you may have seen it already, but… The main reason we got it was to put up the three _Small Print_ drawings we did a while back; one by Narroch06 and two by myself. We are pretty proud of them, so check them out! You can find the link to our account on my profile (just click on my name up top!); collectively we are known as "Avenger of the Abyss".**

**The pictures are entitled "That Damn Small Print" (by Narroch06), "Black and White" (by me) and "Going Under" (by me, based on Citrus02honey's MV, inspired by the fic, so it's all full circle…). Hope you like them!**

**Before we get going… I just want to tell all you jammy Americans who are gloating because you all got to see _Trouble in Tokyo_ last Friday…**

**I live in Britain.**

**I haven't seen it yet.**

**Don't rub it in.**

**And enjoy, of course!**

Eye For An Eye

Enlightenment is something that is sought after for years or entire lifetimes. The elusive Truth, something whispered about by cross-legged mediators, and wizened old sages. Something which is always out of reach – out of mind, out of touch – always blocked by false perceptions and misinterpreted sensations. The Truth cannot be found through the mind or the body, for both are flawed; too easy to trick.

Too easy to influence.

But the Truth can be glimpsed. A tiny peek onto a vastness that is so grandiose and profound that it blows right over the human mind in a recondited rush of mysticism, and leaves said mind in a state of third person perspective. Leaving both body and mind to see one's existence in its entirety from outside one's self. Such a quick snippet of insight is not true enlightenment, but it is something incredible. And once the mind has expanded its original dimensions of thinking, it is impossible to return to that former shape. Experiences like that alter the mind forever; "for better or for worse" is just another perception.

And so it happened for Robin. With those two words.

Two words light-years from "Titans, go!"

_Finish. _

_It._

While they did have the meaning of defeat, there were undertones that colored his intentions to mean more of an acceptance. And being able to truly accept his position in those circumstances was something extraordinary. His body begging for the release of both excruciating pain and inconceivable pleasure; his past, present, and future all vying for his possession; the emotional civil war within him.

Somehow, Slade had unlocked a secret chest within Robin; a Pandora's Box concealed deep with the core of his being, and locked for good reason. Batman had taught his protégé to handle one emotion at a time – it was the key to Robin's level-headedness in every and any situation. It was the reason he made such a good leader, why he was so adept, focused…

But with the breaking of his mind and spirit, the lock to that box had also been opened.

And everything had flown out, to clash and bump like some crazed demonstration of chemical Collision Theory within him; and suddenly, at the sight of _them_, he was in disarray, every premise of the human psyche released to run wild, just like in the Grecian myth of Pandora's Box itself…

Rage sparred with Sorrow, Humiliation contested Ecstasy, while Fear hung over the entire battlefield in a fog of Doubt. Hope was present, but noticed by no-one. She stayed in a dark bat-infested corner of his mind, watching everything but unable to do anything.

No-one saw Hope.

All the chaos within and outside himself. All the conflicting sides of good and evil, shadow and light, right and wrong, everything and _nothing. _All of it was blown away by the meteor impact force of his orgasm. Like flying through a tempest, with lightening splitting the dimensions, rain lashing and stinging, wind, and water, and extreme heat… everything trying to drag him down. And then suddenly breaking through the topmost cloud—

To suddenly feel nothing but the pure silence, the bright sun that shined eerily bright yet still held the chill of space in its atmospheric embrace, and to see… To finally _see_ the very tiny curling of the globe beneath him, still flat in view but just barely beginning its transformation into a sphere around the edges. Hanging there for just a second where he was not himself, he transcended himself, and nothing mattered but that very second. In the moment, not a single thought in his mind, or impulse in his body…

That was Truth.

And the split second that it lasted, while he spurted his essence into Slade's hand and _screamed_ so loud and shrill that it echoed around the room for all to hear (and yet he felt absolutely _nothing_), he was able to come to terms with _everything_.

When the world turned white, he stared at Truth, and surprisingly, Truth stared back.

With _one_ eye…

_No, wait… that's not right… was it **him** all along…? _

**TT**

The moment was gone. He was dropped back into reality with all the subtleness of a _comet_. Suddenly he could hear his breathing again (ragged and hoarse); he could feel the hot knife still jammed into his vacated shoulder socket. He could smell the heady scent of his own sweat and release which was spattered on the floor. He could see _them_ jerking and struggling to force their sporadic blood flow into some semblance of normalcy. Their bloodstreams had to break up all the clots, and were struggling to do so because of how vicious and sudden the attack on their systems had been. It was like when he fell asleep on his arm at a funny angle (or if _Slade_ fell asleep on top of him), and he awoke with stinging pins and needles all up and down it.

It probably felt like that for them as well, except all over their bodies, was his simplistic theory (again, with his rational, analytic thinking _way_ down the drain).

It looked very painful from Robin's perspective, but he couldn't possibly be a good judge because of his own agonizing condition. The dislocated shoulder hurt unbelievably and he was starting to see the most _fantastic_ stars because of it.

Slade finally pulled back and out, not wasting any movement even after his own impressive orgasm. Robin, at last free from Slade's weight, slowly pushed himself up one-handed and sat there with his feet tucked under his knees, slightly hunched over gripping his shoulder tightly to try and ward off some of the burning pain. By the time Robin glanced up, Slade looked immaculate. Everything was back in place, leather gleaming and wrinkle-free, every metal plate, gauntlet, circlet shining as though just polished; whereas Robin was still on the floor, his raven hair in disarray, knees spread with everything hanging out (still sluggishly dripping some of the excess). He was even breathing hard, trying to recover, while Slade was composed with slow even breaths.

It was as if he hadn't exerted himself at all pounding Robin into the concrete. But for once, the total inequality of the situation did not _bother_ Robin.

This was just how things were, how they _always_ were. He could never measure up to Slade. That much had never changed.

As though he had somehow heard Robin's thought, Slade sneered at him with his single cold gray eye.

"Stand up, apprentice."

_They_ watched helplessly as Robin staggered to his feet like a broken puppet on a fraying string, with no decency to his name. It was impossible to work the zip of his fly one-handed, and he was having enough trouble just trying to suppress the whimpers upon standing.

"It looks to me as though you need some help, my dear apprentice," Slade purred, his voice low and dripping poison.

As though _gloating_.

Robin stood silently for only a second before answering;

"…Yes, master."

He noticed that they flinched at the title; their expressions ranging from hurt tear-filled eyes, to dark scowls promising retribution.

But for _what_?

This was how things were _supposed_ to be; how they _always_ were. But he didn't have time to explain it to them (and nor did he have the vocabulary at his disposal), as Slade swooped in behind him, wrapped his arms around his slim waist and bent down right next to his ear.

"Who is your master, Robin?"

A black cotton cloth materialized in Slade's possessive hands.

"_You_ are my… _master_."

The last word shook; the cloth was moving now, swiping up stray drops of semen and sweat. Across his leather clad chest, over his firm belly, down _lower_. Cleaning off…

Every. Last. Drop.

Robin leaned back and allowed himself to rest on Slade's broad chest while his master cleaned up his mess. He silently (wistfully) hoped he would hurry; his shoulder was killing him. All the while Slade was whispering and murmuring in his ear; promises, commands, accusations that were suddenly starting to make sense…

"Look at them, trying to break in on our _fun_. They need to be _punished_…"

"Yes, master," Robin whispered.

He did look over and saw them starting to recover. Cyborg was the first to his feet, grimacing; since he was more machine than flesh, his mechanical parts could compensate for his organic half, which was still going haywire.

"Don't you _loathe_ them?" Slade whispered. "You're _mine_. I took you and you have accepted your position as my apprentice. And yet, you were their _leader_… and they do not _listen_ to you. Not a word. They _disobeyed_ you… You gave them an order and they disobeyed it… Don't you think they should be _punished_ for their defiance? And have I not made you strong? Have I not trained you, made you into something _beautiful_? They are trying to take you away from that; they wish to force you be _him_ again. The Robin you _were_. The weak, pathetic little specimen in the traffic-light clothes… You don't _want_ that, do you?"

"No, master…"

Even as the words were leaving his mouth, he knew that they were true. His old life (or were those just dreams he used to have?) and his current lifestyle could not coexist.

To think of going back to that way of life; with their silly costumes, and their silly alarm, in that silly T-shaped tower…

He couldn't even picture himself there anymore. He had been forced to outgrow those cop and robber games. And now he had to destroy his regression, he had to _punish_ them breaking in, for causing him to suffer through this pain… through _everything_.

It was their fault they didn't obey orders (_he_ was the leader, right?). Now they too would learn the same lesson that had been beaten into him for the past two months; the lessons which had seeped all the way into his core. He was tainted and stained; marked and dented.

Raped, violated and devalued.

Raped in _all_ senses of the word.

Worthless to anyone who still wanted the shining jewel nestled in platinum that he had once been. Because they hadn't been there… Here, now, it meant nothing except that he could show them what they had done to him. _Show_ them how painful it was to disobey.

Like the pain he was still drowning in now; the horrible shearing pain that only his master could release.

"Please, Slade… _master_… it _hurts_…"

Slade stopped rubbing the ripe curves of Robin's ass and reached around to zip up the front.

"Yes, I suppose you have been patient enough…" With his right hand he grasped Robin's limp wrist and looped his other arm around the boy's chest, effectively pinning his one good arm.

"This is going to hurt. We don't want you to bite your tongue off…"

Slade then took the very same cloth he had just used to clean Robin up and, with two forceful fingers, crammed it into his mouth. Even as he gagged and tasted himself on the cloth (salty) he wondered why Slade had forced it in. He would have taken it with no complaints if his master had asked.

"I'm going to reset the bone on the count of five," Slade whispered in his ear; asserting himself as the good guy in Robin's mind. Slade was the hero; the Titans the villains.

Robin the princess. The _prize _for which the two sides would fight for possession.

"Try to relax," Slade went on silkily. "One, two…"

And without bothering to finish the countdown, Slade suddenly jerked the dead arm back to life.

Robin screamed bloody murder through the cloth as he felt bone scraping against bone and tendons stretching _way too far_ just for the estranged ball to slip back in place. Spasming in Slade's crushing embrace, his left hand clawing at the arm holding him down, he was glad the cloth was there. He probably _would_ have bitten his tongue off from the sheer shock.

And again, Robin wondered why Slade felt it necessary to trick him rather belatedly.

But Slade knew that even the most obedient well-trained soldier would unintentionally clench up in anticipation of pain. Tightened muscles were the _last_ thing he needed when trying to reset a joint, so the mind games had to suffice. A relaxed relocation meant less risk of injury to the surrounding ligaments; and the less damage; the less susceptible he would be to a recurring problem. It would not do for his apprentice to suddenly dislocate his shoulder in the middle of a mission.

Only _he_ was allowed to punish his apprentice that way.

He released the boy's arm, but kept his possessive grip around his waist. He waited for Robin to stop wincing and flexing his hand and then leaned slightly to the side to whisper more poison into his ear, because…

They were getting up. The _villains_ were rising.

"They just want to hurt you," Slade murmured. "They just want to take you away and make you unhappy; they want you to be that sickening little boy again. But you aren't that anymore – you're _mine_, and I made you, and I will not allow them to take you from me. Because you don't _want_ to leave, do you? You have finally succumbed to me. You aren't a Teen Titan…"

Slade squeezed him hard around his middle.

"…You're _mine_."

Robin made tiny scratching motions at Slade's chest, as though he was a weak little kitten.

Slade smiled behind his mask.

_He_ had trained him. Robin was no kitten. He was deadly; lethal; unstable; _dangerous_.

Slade took hold of his hair and gripped it, and Robin simply gazed up at him, his expression passionless.

"…I want you to _fight_ them," Slade hissed at him. "I want you to _destroy_ them. Show no mercy; they are the _enemy_."

Slade's timing couldn't have been better. The Titans had all gotten to their feet and were rallying their strength. Slade had upped the ante, but no-one was backing down.

Cyborg's proton cannon fired up, humming and buzzing a murderous whisper.

Beast Boy uttered an inhuman growl from deep in his throat and his teeth and nails grew slightly longer and sharper.

Raven arose from a black ethereal aura that surrounded her, her eyes glowing white pinpoints beneath the shadow of her hood.

Starfire's eyes and hands flared with emerald fire.

If that was how he wanted to play it, the Teen Titans were willing to beat Robin unconscious and _drag_ him back. They would worry about the psychological damage later. Right now, they all knew they just needed to get Robin _out of there._

They were still shocked and disgusted by the unwelcome scene they had walked in on – Slade's idea of a Welcome Wagon – but at this point they were more worried about the way Robin's demeanor had changed. The way he leaned into Slade's grip with no pressure from the villain at all; the way he murmured 'Yes, master' so easily in that submissive and automaton tone.

Most disturbing of all was how his attitude toward _them_ had changed.

Before, his fear for their wellbeing was blatant; his defiant compassion was probably what saved their lives, taking the punishment for them. But _now_, it was as if they weren't even there. He was calm and detached, but still almost clinging to Slade for support.

Perhaps it was his weak posture, as if he really couldn't stand without Slade's help. Or maybe it was because just a few seconds ago he was screaming so openly in pain that it scared them. Made them think he was fragile, easy to break if it got physical.

Or maybe they simply still believed that Robin was not capable of assaulting them himself. That under the leather and metal and spandex and blood and sweat and semen, he was still _himself_. They didn't know about the scar hidden there…

Whatever it was, they underestimated Robin and were focused solely on Slade and the controller. They were completely off-guard when their former leader suddenly leapt forward with a snarl.

So off-guard, in fact, that when he threw himself at them, they didn't even have time to think; they scattered to avoid him, Starfire and Raven taking to the air, Cyborg scraping backwards, the traction so that sparks flew from beneath his metal heels, and Beast Boy rolling aside and tumbling to a halt.

Robin skidded and stopped, his back to them for a moment or two; and then he turned on them again and they actually shrank back from him in horror.

He was so savage; almost inhuman. His face was twisted with real hatred and fury; his stance was low, bestial. Even Beast Boy, who had the power of real animals at his green fingertips, was astounded by how much his stance was reminiscent of a big cat – a tiger or a panther. Claws out, back rounded over in a crouch, potent kinetic energy stored in his taut muscles ready to launch him into an attack.

He watched them all, his gaze flickering from one to another; carefully choosing his first victim…

He went for Beast Boy, darting at him so fast that the shape-shifter didn't even have time to change. He stared, wide-eyed, as his former friend descended upon him, and then struggled wildly as Robin went for his neck. The bigger – and far more savage – boy had just got a grip on it and Beast Boy realized he was going to try to _break_ it; with a low growl Beast Boy's form changed, grew bigger and broader, and Robin's hands were forced apart as Beast Boy's throat grew too large for him to get his hands around.

Robin found himself sprawled on top of a dark green grizzly bear; but only for a moment. Beast Boy reached up hooked his long claws underneath Robin's neck plate and threw him off – Robin simply rolled with the momentum and halted in a crouch, lifting his head with a savage growl as Beast Boy and Cyborg closed in on him.

Somewhere behind, Slade smirked and drew back into the shadows unseen by the Titans…

His thumb was on the button.

Robin collected himself. The boiling rage had been watered down to a scowl, having learned the hard way that such emotions were more of a hindrance in battle. He let his anger seethe under the surface to fuel his reason to fight, but didn't let it touch his mind, because it was much harder to observe _them_ when he was seeing red.

Slade had taught him to fight entirely based on the opponent's body language. Slade did not give warnings or openings so Robin had learned very quickly (and rather painfully as well) that he had to read the attack the very instant Slade moved; or even better, predict it _before_ he moved. It was a semi-helpful trick he had picked up from his master.

To intentionally leave an opening for the enemy to exploit, when in reality _he_ was the one in control. Giving the enemy an obvious target told him know exactly where they were going to attack (as _he_ would have before this further brutal training), and thus, how to counter it.

He didn't read minds in battle; he _wrote_ them.

So he stood there, calmly; as though stepping out of the door to idly inspect the weather. He discreetly lowered his guarding arm a few inches, and leaned forward ever so slightly.

His unprotected head couldn't have been more apparent unless he painted a _bulls-eye_ on it.

It was exactly what Cyborg wanted. Just a little titanium tap on the head and they could _carry_ Robin out.

After defeating Slade.

Somehow.

First things first…

The cybernetic teen leapt towards Robin, pulling his right arm back with an open fist. He swung it around like a blurry pendulum, obscuring the look of his arm with lightning piston speed; aiming for the right side of Robin's head. He was hoping to shock the younger boy; the Robin they knew would be startled by such a vicious attack, and would move aside – relying on his speed – rather then defending himself against it.

Cyborg was banking on that movement; for if this blow actually _connected_ with Robin's temple, it would kill him.

Robin didn't move and by now the swing of Cyborg's metal arm had reached terminal velocity; it was too late to pull it or abort it.

In a wild panic, Cyborg—

At the last possible instant, Robin simply shifted forty-five degrees to the right like lightning – faster than they had _ever_ seen him move before – and threw his left hand up to block, snapping it into a fist on contact; his knuckles taking the impact of skin and bone against solid titanium, and sending shuddering shockwaves right up his arm.

But his fingers did not break.

On the other end… It would have hurt a _regular_ human; hard knuckles against the soft flesh of the inner arm would always bruise.

But Cyborg barely felt it.

Robin knew that – his stinging knuckles knew it too. But it was all intended. Now, he was in close to Cyborg, he had disrupted his balance, and his torso was wide open. The Boy Wonder moved swiftly, ramming his right hand – positioned with the thumb protruding slightly forward – into the metallic chest, hitting the floating ribs that weren't really _there_ anymore. Again, the robotic properties of Cyborg's body saved him from being debilitated, but the tiny pressure target Robin hit caused him to buckle over, dropping his head into the anti-Titan's range.

Robin's taut, savage hand flared out and snapped forward, biting deep into the dark organic flesh of Cyborg's neck. He didn't just hit the target, he hit and followed _through_; pushing the edge of his hand in as far as his reach would allow, as though trying to grab Cyborg's spinal cord.

Looking at the human body from a purely physiological perspective, the mandible is simply a larger and denser bone compared to the phalanges. When it is Fist vs. Face, Face usually wins. Robin had bruised and broken too many fingers slamming his fist into Slade's mask to try for a head shot now. And the neck was a much more susceptible target; no matter how much body building one does, or armor one wears, the neck will always be vulnerable.

You can't beef up cartilage.

The entire maneuver was over in a second. And it was not simply a block, a singular action, but a multipurpose counter. Robin had gotten a huge amount of use from just one movement.

Cyborg crumpled from the blow, like a wet paper doll. He fell over without a word.

And he didn't move.

Beast Boy stood in shock for a second before melting and expanding into pure feline sinew. He hurtled in with a short guttural Bengal roar; seeing his friend plummet to the ground in silence because of this… _person_ (that can't be Robin, that _can't_ be Robin!) Even through his mask, he could see the look in Robin's eyes when he did it, and though it was a familiar expression, it was on the wrong face. Robin had looked predatory, deadly serious, and there was a glint of manic aggression flitting over his face. It was the look of a killer, something he usually only saw on villains, and viewing it on his friend's face as he ruthlessly cut another friend down…

It was just so _wrong_. A perverted and false phantasm; a mask over a mask.

And that traitorous action released the doubts Beast Boy had been clinging to. Robin wasn't going to come peacefully – quite the opposite in fact. He was dangerous; Cyborg's fall somehow made that notion final, and it made Beast Boy mad.

_Betrayed_.

So it was with unrestrained animal fury that he leapt towards the now smaller boy; a dazzling display of feral might and speed. But more impressive was the pure animal confidence that Beast Boy exuded, the total unerring focus; such a blend of ease and concentration, such a being-in-the-present awareness that was the envy of the highest yogis.

A focus an infinity upon infinities away from Beast Boy's usual meandering persona; his dizzy way of flitting from one thing to another in the blink of an eye, near-bordering on ADD.

No, this was so very different; a flaming layer beneath the usual placid Beast Boy, awakened by the betrayal and savagery of one he had once called his friend.

And this savage single-minded intent was fixated directly on the ex-friend in question.

Robin saw the huge tiger leap at him, saw the jade stare that was intense, cold and unflinching, not flighty or friendly, and spoke of self-possession to the point of exploding with rage. The army battalion in his mouth with canines as long as Robin's forefinger finger opened in a snarl and Robin had to leap backwards to avoid being mauled. But the green cat easily flowed from the landing into another leap with the speed and fluidity of water; a deadly green missile capable of jumping ten yards in a single bound.

A fantastic creature which moved with a magnificent suppleness that even Robin, as a trained acrobat, could never possess.

Slade's apprentice rolled to the side out of the cat's landing range, but couldn't recover fast enough and got cuffed by an Encyclopedia Britannica sized paw.

He was sent sprawling, but before he could hit the floor from the bone-jarring blow, he was gripped around his chest by a strong dark energy, his body suddenly phasing into a negative photo effect. Raven lifted him slightly off the ground, holding him still as wide ribbons of metal were telekinetically wrapped around his chest and arms. He didn't try to struggle against the black mental power, instead flinging an explosive at Raven using only his wrist. The restricted throw didn't have much power in it; only allowing the flick of his wrist, so it only landed near her feet instead of smacking her straight in the face as he would have liked it to have done so.

Even so, it went off with a deafening _bang_.

It was enough to break her concentration and release the renegade Robin. He fell with a sharp little cry, landing on his side and jarring the twisted girder into his arm and ribs.

Something in his chest splintered.

He didn't scream.

Screaming was wasted energy; _that_, and it only angered Slade.

That much he had learned.

With the twisted metal still digging into his arm and torso, he got up again and broke into a sprint, racing forward without wavering in the slightest. As though the tinny embrace wasn't even there; he only had to change tactics. While the smoke was still clearing from the bomb, he dashed to the right of the cloud and came at Raven from the side. He kneed her in the ribs and followed it up with a fierce stomp kick to the side of her left knee with his other foot before she even had a chance to look up and reorient herself.

_("Go for the joints, Robin. Not only are they more vulnerable, it knocks the opponent off balance and can limit his mobility…") _

This was just another type of training for Robin.

And he intended to make his master proud.

Because his master would _reward_ him, just as he had promised.

Before he could lay into Raven again, he was slammed from the back by an excruciatingly hot and violent force. The starbolt knocked him to the ground, but also freed him from the metal bonds. He started to get up again, crushing all of his agony together and cramming it down somewhere within him; however, a large green rhino put a stop to this endeavor, lumbering over with surprising speed and, as gently as a pissed off 4,000 pound herbivore could manage, laid a trunk sized foot across his chest. Robin tried to squirm out from under the giant, but Beast Boy just leaned the tiniest bit on Robin, effectively squeezing the air out of him with his enormous vegetarian bulk. While Robin writhed and hoarsely gasped out (uncharacteristic) obscenities at him and started to turn a pretty pale blue, Beast Boy first turned his animal eyes – alive with the spark of human intelligence – on Raven, then motioned with his large dished head at Cyborg.

Raven, clutching at her own injured knee while being helped up by Starfire, understood the message. She dismissed her own pain and quickly floated over to their downed friend; kneeling, she pulled back her hood and assessed the damage to Cyborg's windpipe. The internal cartilage, acting as a cutting device, had been pushed through his larynx and he was slowly drowning in his own blood. He was unconscious and rapidly deteriorating; the young empath was shocked at how bad it was (she could hear the gurgling in his chest, and see the blood dribbling from his mouth, his face twisted in agony even in his blacked out state), but she realized with swelling dread that anything that could take the heavy hitting Cyborg out with one move _had_ to be devastating.

It scared her to heal Cyborg like this. It was too brutal, too painful, and _way _too close to fatality. She hadn't thought Robin was capable of _this._

Sure, he had a temper; they all knew that. But _this_… this wasn't anger he was displaying. This was a detached mannerism they had never seen in him before. The original Robin – the _real_ Robin – was animated in battle, firing out quips and puns as rapidly as he did punches. He was daring to the point of stupidity; gung-ho and supple and _beautiful_.

Now he was just plain _frightening_ in his precision and his method.

A loud, rhino-sounding bellow exploded behind Raven. She looked up and over her shoulder to see a thin blade protruding from Beast Boy's fleshy muzzle, just above his right nostril, and Robin crawling to his feet as Beast Boy jumped back and shook his horned snout, trying to dislodge the weapon.

Clearing her mind of that errant panic, Raven quickly took charge of the situation while the temporary leader (_Cyborg_) was unconscious.

"Starfire, you need to help Beast Boy keep Robin distracted while I heal Cyborg," she ordered, her voice as cold and brittle as an icicle.

"But Robin… he is still our friend, how can we attack…?" Starfire started, horrified despite what she had seen; despite realizing too that the monster before them was not the same Robin who had been stolen away from them like some helpless fairytale princess.

The Tamaranean girl suddenly felt a blast of hot air against her back as Beast Boy opened his Tyrannosaurus Rex mouth wide and full out _roared_. The air visibly shook, like heat coming off a road on a hot day.

She did not turn around, as though defiant; her pretty face was set, and there were fierce tears in her green eyes.

The sound was still ringing in Raven's gut as Beast Boy charged towards Robin, his mouth wide with arm length stalactites and stalagmites gaping open to invite the Boy Wonder inside for a visit.

Robin began zigzagging around the room, darting boldly between Beast Boy's scaled legs, and deftly avoiding the fanged maw as it attempted to scoop him up. It was almost comical how Robin had Beast Boy spinning in circles trying to catch him, as if the tyrant lizard was trying to bite his own tail. The dinosaur's huge intimidating mass was more of a hindrance than a help in this situation, but all it took was one very literal misstep, and Robin would be reduced to little more than a red smear on the concrete.

Raven looked back at Starfire pointedly, her violet eyes piercing.

"He won't be our friend in _any_ kind of way if Beast Boy accidentally _kills_ him. Just go help pin him down before he gets stepped on."

The alien girl didn't hesitate after hearing that; she leapt above Raven, summoned her righteous fury and soared over to assist the dizzy changeling.

Raven turned back to the downed, dying Cyborg; closing her eyes, she cleared her mind again, allowing that timeless white oblivion to seep in. she took a deep breath, and then exhaled. Her eyes opened, and now they glowed with that white magnetic power.

"Azarath. Metrion. _Zinthos_…"

With those enchanted words, she placed her slim hands over Cyborg's torn throat and began transferring the vicious wound onto her own body, where the injury would be banished by a magic more ancient than the technology that had _initially_ saved Cyborg's life after his accident.

A science more ancient than that which controlled Robin now; that which Slade had implanted into them.

As she felt the sickening pressure begin to burn on her own throat, she wondered if it was even possible to get Robin – the _real_ Robin – back after this.

Because the Robin they knew would never hurt his friends like this; he never even used such vicious methods on his _enemies_.

They could all see how much his style had changed; no longer did he leap around energetically, jumping and flipping and cartwheeling for show. Now he paused, prowled, eyed them warily instead of just leaping in headfirst without caution. He moved only when necessary, and always conserved energy in his motions. He didn't _need_ big arm waving effects anymore. He could take someone like Cyborg out with a single strike. It was somehow beyond even combative prowess; the Robin they had known was a highly-skilled fighter; strong, fast, graceful and daring. He had put the _art _in martial arts. But this was _beyond_ – the way he moved…

His muscles enthused like liquid flowing beneath his skin. He no longer entertained that dancer's grace they had come to associate with his fighting style – he was simply _inhuman_.

And he was attacking them ruthlessly. While they were trying to be gentle and pulling their punches, he was assaulting them as though… as though they were _Slade_.

Once upon a time.

Raven didn't know what to think anymore as she spoke the archaic chant that banished the pain between dimensions. But she knew Robin had to be stopped before he hurt anyone else.

He was dangerous.

Cyborg groaned and sat up, looking first at Raven, then at the three fighting in the background; the chaotic sounds of their melee filled the space with the bubbly pinging of out-worldly starbolts, and a menagerie of hisses, growls, brays, and roars.

Robin was silent except for the occasional furious snarl or frustrated, pained grunt.

"Cyborg, are you alright?"

Raven's question brought the cybernetic teen immediately back to his senses and he hobbled to his feet, grunting affirmative.

"I didn't think he could _do_ that…" he groaned, flexing his titanium shoulders. "He moved so fast… and the look on his face, it was just… so…"

"Cold?" Raven suggested blandly.

"Yeah, like he didn't even know me…"

"At this point in time, I don't think he truly remembers any of us," Raven said, her jaded tone belying the true emotion behind it. "I don't even think he remembers _himself_. He's forgotten who he is, what he stands for… That's why we have to take him back. We need to work together."

Cyborg nodded shakily. Raven knew he was still overwhelmed by his heavily bristled brush with death, but traumatization via best friend strangulation could wait. They needed to help Robin now. And if that meant returning the favor (but without the drowning), then Cyborg was willing to help.

"We gotta surround him!" He yelled, bolting forward into the fray. Raven ascended into the air with a sharp little nod and swooped after the half-robot.

Robin suddenly found himself fighting four super-powered Titans instead of just two. He was already having trouble with the alien; the flight element combined with long range projectiles were not his forte. He could dodge easily enough, but it was harder to go on the offensive while she insolently floated 20 feet up. And the shape-shifter kept him constantly on his toes – and constantly _off_ his toes as well with all the rolling he had to do to avoid being disemboweled by a stray tusk.

And now there were _four_ of them, on all sides closing in.

Alien. Metal man. Changeling. Witch.

And no prizes for guessing where he had picked up _those_ pronouns…

He slipped into his substantially bigger bag of tricks and pulled out an old classic. He tossed a disc up towards the floating alien in a slow lazy arc. She followed the projectile with her eyes and didn't notice the fast ball he threw after her attention had been drawn away by the first disc. The second disc hit soundly, and she plummeted from the air with smoke trailing her battered form. To add insult to injury, the first disc descended onto her fallen form as well, with another resounding explosion to signify the impact.

Robin was smug. It was an old playground ploy (and not Slade's, but Batman's), but it still always worked the first time someone encountered it. And since he had never used it on _Starfire_ before…

However, he had no time to gloat, since the others were rushing him in retribution.

A blitz from three sides.

So he blitzed back.

Focusing only on one target, he charged and grabbed the changeling's arm in passing. He snapped to a halt, dragging Beast Boy with him and held him up in front of him as a living meat shield. The others stopped their charge and tensely waited for Beast Boy to transform into a snake, or a whale, or something _useful_. Robin couldn't hold onto every animal in Beast Boy's repertoire.

But he did nothing.

"You change, I break her neck," Robin hissed dangerously in Beast Boy's sensitive pointed ear, his heel balanced precariously over Starfire's throat; the sharp metal edge of his boot glinted wickedly in the dim lighting. The whispered threat was serious, and they all knew that Robin (_this_ monster of a Robin) wouldn't hesitate in carrying it out.

Cyborg cringed at the thought and inwardly berated himself for not noticing how close Robin had gotten to the unconscious Starfire.

Robin pulled Beast Boy's arm backwards and bent it up. Beast Boy kneeled under the pressure, hissing in pain as Robin continued to drive the limb into the stratosphere. It felt nice being on the _other_ end for once, and Robin realized why Slade enjoyed employing such joint locks.

It was a _power_ _rush_. By simply flicking his wrist, he could make Beast Boy leap into the ground just to avoid having his arm snapped in two. So he twisted, and indeed, the green boy had to frantically rotate his whole body, literally jumping into the throw while he had barely moved.

_That_ was power.

And proton cannons were power as well, in a more sterile high-tech sort of way. Cyborg blasted Robin off of Beast Boy, and _over_ Starfire, slamming him into the far opposite wall. Raven followed his attack up with her own technique, and piled the rubble from the impact on top of the Boy Wonder in a cloud of dust.

Beast Boy stood up, wincing, and without looking away from the metal pile containing Robin.

"Thanks dude…" He rubbed vigorously at his skinny arm, flexing it to make completely sure it wasn't broken. "I totally thought he was going to break it there…"

"He _was_," Raven put in bluntly, employing her telekinesis to put up her hood as she looked past Beast Boy at the pile of twisted metal.

Beast Boy looked away from her and spared a grinning glance at Cyborg, overwhelmingly happy to have his buddy back; but Cyborg wasn't smiling, and neither was Raven.

And Starfire… well, she was still out cold, blissfully unaware of how close she had come to 'death by shoe'.

"Listen up, yo," Cyborg said quickly, clicking his cannon back into place inside his cybernetic joint. "We need a new strategy. We can't all rush him at once; he's not stupid, he knows not to stay in the middle. So we're gonna surround him, engage him individually, and when he's distracted, the other two strike from behind. Oh, and try to keep him _away_ from Starfire, okay? Actually, Raven, can't you do anything to help her?"

The empath shot Cyborg a withering look.

"I drained a lot of my energy healing _you_. If it isn't life threatening, I would prefer to refrain from using my healing powers."

They all turned when the rubble shifted, and a dirty bleeding Robin emerged from beneath the pile, as though some newly-buried vampiric corpse clawing his way back out of his grave.

"Okay, team, let's do this and get him home," Cyborg ordered. "Teen Titans, _GO_!"

Robin swayed on his feet. Something had definitely gotten knocked loose from that collision, and his chest was just a huge radiating mass of pain; Pandora's Box had splintered and shards of it were sticking into him in places he didn't even know he _had_.

Nothing too serious.

In fact, he had been getting batted around quite a bit the entire time, but refused to show it. He had, after all, been through _worse_…

Suddenly three of them were before him again. This time they were poised and ready. He knew that his success rate had just plummeted right _off_ the chart because they were now organized, and he didn't have the surprise element anymore, and he _hurt_ all over.

Not like that would _stop_ him, but even so…

The rocks and strips of metal at his feet were encased in pure blackness and came to life, flying at his head as though he had suddenly become magnetic. He covered his face and blocked the worst brunt of the debris, but they were only foreplay for the titanium alloy fist which came careening into his gut. The air was knocked out of him in a sharp _whoosh_, and he tried not to writhe from the vile painful sensation.

Writhing always got him _punished_.

Before he could recover, a small green hyena clamped onto his left arm, and then _shook_. Blood was flowing freely now as he thumped the hyena ineffectually and _screamed_ as the teeth dug in deep. Hyenas have some of the strongest jaws in nature, and the shaking was tearing the flesh from Robin's bones.

The anti-Titan miraculously remembered some precious kernel from his training and thrust his thumb into the beast's eye. The hyena immediately let go and backed away with a high pitched _yip yip yip_,but the teeth were instantly replaced by dark magic which lifted him from the ground and flung him to the floor a few feet away. He landed on a sharp protruding metal barb which had been up heaved sometime during the fight. It sunk into his upper back, and the slightly curved tip of the metal shard acted as a hook.

_Now_ he screamed.

When Cyborg lifted him from the floor, a small strip of bloody flesh was left behind.

Robin twisted in his grip – grimacing in agony, hissing in fury – unable to gain any leverage when dangling off the ground. So he instead reached into his belt and tossed a gritty smoke bomb in his captor's face. He landed gracefully and was just about the kick out the robot's knees when he was once again scooped up by an intangible force. He felt the shadowy tendrils delve through his belt as all his weapons were quickly removed and tossed away.

He snarled in anger, struggling to get out of the telekinetic hold but was tackled by the refrigerator on legs before he could do anything. He tried to catch himself, but the excruciation trampling through him slowed his breakfall and he landed hard anyway.

So he lay still and didn't try to get up.

Another trick.

When Raven cautiously stepped over to inspect his prone form, he rolled over at the last second and performed a fast sweep kick, taking her legs form beneath her and knocking her to the ground. He pounced on top of her, cocked his arm back to deliver a Sunday punch; but was _rudely_ interrupted by a vicious jaw-shattering tackle from the side.

The spiraled headgear of the bighorn ram wasn't just for show. Beast Boy nimbly pranced over Raven, putting himself between her and Robin. Then he reared up, tiptoed a few feet on his tiny back hooves with his hard head tilted curiously to the side and his watery brown eyes wide, with white peeking around the rims. The comically psychotic-looking two step was the customary initiation for a big ram head butt, performed right before they plunged down and cracked their skulls together.

It was an effective enough warning and Robin just barely managed to scuttle back as the front cloven hooves crashed onto the spot he had been sprawled; the impact sending tremors through the floor. However he wasn't lucky enough to avoid the hard head that came down with it.

Bighorn sheep have strong necks, broad heads, spreading horns, and air-filled chambers in the skull that can absorb head-to-head collisions.

Humans don't.

The skin on his forehead was instantly split from the blow, and blood flowed generously down his face and into his eyes. His brain felt like an abused basketball, bouncing around against the inside of his skull, and he could feel his consciousness slipping away; the grains of awareness gliding through his strained fingers, as the sands of Time themselves had melted away while in Slade's clutches. He grasped, and struggled against the darkness that came, blink as he might. At first it was right in front of him, a black spot at the centre of everything. Then the ink dot spread into a blotch that reached to the edges of his vision, and then all he could see was a crack of light at the top of his left eye, a small window too high up.

And finally, total darkness swept over him in a black wave of oblivion.

Like Slade.

He fell.

Beneath the dark tide where nothing really mattered anymore. White stretched faces floated in front of his own, and then drifted off with the same indifference. He didn't know the faces… he didn't even know himself, nor did he have the capacity to care in the darkness of his unconscious mind…

Some time passed.

But it didn't last for long. A rope was suddenly wrapped around him, preventing his descent to the nadir. He batted weakly at the line, willing it to unravel so that he could get on with his stupor. The limbo between waking and sleeping, reality and dreams, pain and blissful fuzzy nothingness…

It was a disorienting place to be dangling. He wanted either the dark totality of unconsciousness, or the stark certainty of wakefulness.

The cord tightened, he could feel _someone's_ will pouring down it onto him. It was strong. It passed into him, and its hard tenacity had an invigorating effect on him. He stopped fighting against the lifeline and began the slow murky ascension (like a lost soul to Heaven), all the while enjoying the firm steady hand guiding him up. He started feeling dizzy, but the vertigo only added to the sense of sublimity. When the pain started to slink back in, he knew he was almost there…

Suddenly he could see again. His eyes cracked open only to blurry slits, and the first thing he noticed upon waking, the _very_ initial sensation was a dumb panic that uselessly hampered him down with shock.

He was totally surrounded.

Dark figures were crowded over him, leaning in and leering like vultures; their grins large and hideous, with _way_ too many teeth. A pack of wolves trying to smile, and it only registered to him as the lips being coyly pulled back to reveal blood-dipped fangs that promised twisted and terrifying punishment for just being alive.

_This_ was not Heaven.

He tried to move, but found that he couldn't…

The teeth floated closer to him.

He felt his hips being lifted up, shoulders pushed down—

_Don't touch me…_

Mouth pried open and filled with hard male length, gagging him—

_No, stop it, stop it, please…_

He couldn't breathe… _he couldn't breathe_… **_he couldn't breathe_**—

_The teeth breathed!_

A panicked wail tore from his throat and he regained his motor functions in the surge of terror. The knots around his wrists had given way during the struggle, and he catapulted forth. He swung out at the darkness, coming fully to his senses when he connected with a real face. They weren't wolves, or floating breathing teeth, or any other form of horrific incarnate.

But he continued to fight back, flailing and lashing out in a brainless panic.

Gone was the detached warrior from earlier; now he was nothing more than a frightened boy, and one who thought he was fighting for his life. It was not a question of courage. It was something constitutional, nothing more than life-hungry stupidity and the inability to let go, driven forth by raw undiluted fear.

The Titans had only been trying to help. Raven pulling him up from unconsciousness (they had tied him up to prevent him from attacking again), all of them leaning over in joy when his eyes shakily opened, even Starfire having awakened to greet him; smiling, positively beaming at him.

And then they saw the color drain from his face like a plug had been pulled, saw the widening disoriented fear in his eyes, and he tried to scream… but couldn't. He started hyperventilating instead, lips turning blue from lack of oxygen. And finally, in a feat of adrenaline pumped super strength, he ripped out of the cords binding him and slammed Starfire in the nose before thrashing his way out of their circle.

He now was collapsed a few feet away; a haphazardly propped-up pile of whimpering shivers. Raven slowly moved to stand up; Robin saw the movement and exploded.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" He yelled, while simultaneously scuttling backwards and then tripping, falling onto his back to sit up, warding them back with one flailing hand.

"Robin it is us, your friends!" Starfire tentatively called out. "Please do not run from us! We wish only to help you!

Robin flinched as though he had been struck.

"Please don't… _please_…"

"_Robin_."

Slade's rich baritone voice penetrated and dissolved the ocean of memories and nightmares with the single word; the single utterance of that two-syllable name. _He_ was the main instigator of those deeply rooted fears, but he was also the lifeboat that _saved_ the boy from them.

Robin's mooring, his shelter… his _master_.

Suddenly Robin could breathe without screaming or hyperventilating, the shadows and teeth were gone, and the tremors racking his body submissively died down.

"Well, it has been _entertaining_, dear Titans, but frankly I think things have gone a bit too far…" Slade purred; he looked down at Robin and saw the look of total and absolute adoration splashed across the boy's face, like he was some sort of knight in shining black armor. Slade chuckled lowly and shook his head, amazed at how far Stockholm Syndrome could twist a person. Robin chose _him_ over his friends sitting no more than ten feet from him, offering salvation to his imprisonment.

But Robin was a falcon, hooded and obedient, seeing and hearing nothing but his master.

And the blind loyalty suddenly gave Slade a _wicked_ idea…

The Teen Titans were still crouched in a semicircle, frozen and disturbed by Robin's reaction, and at this point Slade knew he could make the boy do anything he wanted. Why not give the Titans yet _another_ show? More proof of his complete and utter control over Robin. They couldn't do anything to save him. He didn't have free will anymore.

He wouldn't _let_ them save him.

Slade reached into his belt and dropped a knife into his apprentice's lap. It was the same style of knife that had carved the DIY scar into the boy's chest. For all he knew, it could have been that _very_ blade which had done it. If it _was_, the blood had been immaculately polished off and it glistened brightly in Robin's hand like a shiny silver dollar. The metaphorical currency displaying the bold word "_Liberty"_ only as an unattainable ideal. There was no freedom in the cruel command from his master.

"Robin, every time one of those _intruders_ takes a step towards us, I want you to make a cut," Slade ordered in that velveteen voice. "A _nice long cut_ on your arm."

Robin looked up, processing the order slowly. It didn't make sense…

"But Slade… _master_…Why?"

A test…

"Because I order you do to so," Slade replied in a low, dangerous voice.

An ultimatum. The Titans looked positively scandalized. There was no way Robin would stoop so low… Not unless…

They felt a draft. A glaciered cold front was moving through the Nether Realm.

Hell froze over.

Robin gripped the knife with his good right hand, positioning the blade over the wrist of his left arm, where the sleeve had been ripped open by a certain green hyena. Slade smiled luxuriously behind his mask, and stepped back a few feet to prove that he wasn't physically forcing Robin to do anything.

The Boy Wonder was on auto pilot.

"Remember, my dear apprentice; cut _up and down_ the arm, not _across_," Slade ordered; his tone dripping an evil glee that wasn't _typical_ of him.

He always seemed too inhuman to be gleeful; but oh how he was _enjoying_ this sweet, sick little game.

"Yes, master…"

The Titans cautiously rose to their feet, not sure what to do now. They didn't want to believe that their leader would intentionally hurt himself just for Slade to make a point.

But they weren't sure if they could afford to disbelieve it either.

They couldn't just _stand_ there. And yet, if they did anything _but_—

"Take it easy, man; we ain't gonna to hurt you…"

Cyborg spoke gently as he took a tiny titanium step forward, his hands up in surrender as if approaching a wild animal.

Robin saw the slight advance, and, without even pausing to spare a _glance_ at Slade, pressed the tip of the knife into his forearm, just above the hyena bite wound.

There was a collective sharp intake of breath at the self-destructive threat.

Cyborg froze; but he didn't step back.

And when he _didn't_, Robin slowly, purposefully dragged the blade up his arm and watched the red smile form in its wake. The thin line was on fire; a lit-from-within red, heart red, wet neon red, _sexual_ red. It verified just how deeply Robin's insanity ran when he moaned softly in excitement; unable to even get physical sensations right. The blood spilling tinged with pain only reminded him of Slade's dark embrace.

Sadist converts a masochist.

Slade was positively _delighted_ with the way Robin closed his eyes and slightly tilted his head back. He was even vaguely turned on by Robin's bizarre reaction to cutting. The game had suddenly become _much_ more delicious.

The Titans stood stock still, unbelieving of what they were seeing.

_No way…_

Starfire could feel the rage ripping through her being; Tamaraneans are creatures that draw their power from their unbridled emotions, and for that reason Starfire was no expert at controlling her rare-but-dangerous temper. It seethed in her veins and made every breath painful. She couldn't _stand_ it. Not being able to do anything while Robin held himself hostage… it was most infuriating. She wanted to do nothing but _rip_ Slade's head off with her inhuman strength—

She took a step forward, but jerked to a halt when Robin drew yet another line up his forearm, the soft gasp of pain trailing off to a longing sigh.

A cool, calm voice suddenly muscled through her wrath and made itself heard in her mind.

It was Raven. Smart Raven; glorious Raven; _plan-bearing_ _Raven!_

And it was _brilliant_ idea, much better than watching this sick game unfold before them…

Starfire and Raven tore their eyes away from the disquieting scene and nodded to each other. Starfire warmed up her eyes, converting her hatred to pure rippling green energy. Simultaneously, Raven softly muttered "Azarath, Metrion, _Zinthos_…".

And for once, Slade didn't notice; being so fascinated by his apprentice, his one sharp eye was no longer on them, no longer mockingly regarding them.

Why look at _them_ when it was so much more pleasurable – in all kinds of ways – to watch dear, corrupted, screwed-up little Robin near pass out with the pleasure of cutting himself up?

_Why_ did Robin find cutting himself pleasurable?

Even _Slade_ didn't know quite how Robin's mind worked anymore…

So Slade didn't notice; but _Robin_, warily watching the Titans out of the corner of his eye (looking for an excuse to make another cut), saw the telltale glow from Starfire's eyes, and when the knife was suddenly whipped out of his hand and summoned to Raven's glowing outstretched one, he knew what was about to happen.

He sprang to his feet, heart hammering, muscles screaming and convulsing from the sudden movement; and leapt in front of Slade right as the emerald beams left the Tamaranean's eyes. Starfire reeled back and screamed before those beams collided, realizing before everyone else who was going to take the death blow—

It hit Robin.

It hit him square in the face, snapped his head back and grazed off to the right, hitting the back wall and dissolving into green sparks. Robin made a horrible grating sound, something unnatural and disturbing and unbelievably agonizing to even those who _heard_ it. Like scratching nails against a blackboard, a sound so jarring it couldn't have possibly come from a human throat.

But it was coming from Robin, along with the nauseous smell of burning flesh. He staggered and fell to his knees, frantically clutching his face, as he continued to scrape his lungs out with that ghastly wail. Blood gushed from between his fingers in unreal amounts (with a Hollywood-esque fakeness), and he started convulsing, dropping to the floor and thrashing his legs; like he was hopelessly trying to run away from the unbearable agony.

Slade saw the potent beam heading straight towards him, saw Robin jump in front of him, and now… the icy fear was pumping through his veins. Something he hadn't felt in a _long_ time.

An emotion too _human_.

He was afraid of losing Robin. But even now, he didn't know how to show it; didn't gasp in horror, or run and scoop his apprentice up. He stood in shock, and when Robin looked up, reaching for him with a single bent bloody hand, and Slade finally _saw_ the damage…

He saw the blood drizzling like a garden hose, saw the white pus marbled into the flow, and _saw_ the eerie vacant hole that had been Robin's right eye…

Robin writhed and gripped at Slade's leg, still screaming and _screaming_—

"_Help… me_…" he gasped breathlessly, his other hand clawing at his wrecked eye. "_Sl… ade… h-help… **HELP**!_"

Slade stared down at him; for once, in all the time the Teen Titans (both with and without Robin as their leader) had known him as their enemy, he was speechless.

Because it had never occurred to him that he might _lose_ to them.

And now he had.

The Titans in question were frozen by shock too; all everyone in the entire room could do was stare at Robin as he writhed and screamed bloody murder on the ground in a pool of his own blood and the sizzling white pus that was the remains of his right eye.

And then something snapped; for the second time.

With a roar, Beast Boy was a cheetah; Cyborg's cannon was out; Raven was uttering her mantra; Starfire's hands were positively _blazing_, tears streaming down her face.

Slade hated to lose; it was one of those things that he and Robin had always had in common.

Oh yes, he hated to lose… but that wasn't to say he didn't know _how_.

And that he didn't know how to bring everyone _else_ down _with_ him.

Without any showy flair, or bragging, or bargaining, or threatening, he pressed the button on the trigger.

Within seconds all five Titans were writhing on the ground before him. He would have loved this scene earlier, but now…

There was no victory in it. No lesson to be taught and no prize to be won.

And he was so transfixed by that haunted bloody hole on Robin's face that he didn't hear the flapping of wings, the membranes almost insect-sounding, but with a leathery quality as _hundreds_ of them filtered and flitted into the huge room.

He didn't hear the pounding feet, or the swish of cloth, or even the whistle of _something_ whizzing over his head.

Slade only saw Robin.

There was a crash, a grunting sigh from the machinery as the gears stopped turning, and a descending electronic whine as the power was cut off—

Without any other warning, they were all plunged into darkness.

* * *

And now…

All the fangirls are gonna come hunt us down because of the cliffhanger…

Oh well, it was worth the wait right? We sure hope so…This chapter took forever and a minute to write.

So please tell us what you think in a review! Those things are like drugs, me an' RobinRocks are hopelessly addicted to every bit of feedback you guys give us. Good comments, bad comments, old time reviewer, or a newbie to the _Small Print_ response line, we don't care. Reviews are needed, and the more we get the more we write. Honestly this story would get nowhere without your guy's support. I especially want to thank the people who submitted in-depth and critical reviews. Those are the BEST, and you all know who you are. Thank you so much!

As a quick side note: Don't hit people in the neck like psycho Robin did. You really can kill someone that way.

Got anything you wanna add RR?

**Not really, except I hope you like the art; and also reissuing my threat about not wanting to hear a WORD about _Trouble in Tokyo_…**

**And seriously, DON'T hit people in the neck.**

Until next time, enjoy the art!

**Much love, RobinRocks and Narroch06 xXx **


	15. Old Science

**Yes yes yes, it took us long enough, we know… Still, here is the long-awaited 15th chapter of _Small Print_ (which is well over a year old by now – it was a year old on Halloween, actually…), entitled _Old Science_. You will discover what the "old science" is yourselves soon enough. Also this chapter – a nice lil' surprise for ya. Actually, some of you saw it coming, but I think it should be welcome anyway… Well, we absolutely _rushed_ to get this chapter done – by the time you guys get this, I, RobinRocks, won't have actually seen the _final_ version of it. But I imagine Narroch will have perfected my final part rather nicely, so do enjoy… And yes, speaking of Narroch… it's old news by now, surely, but she changed her pen-name. It's now simply "Narroch" instead of "Narroch06". Anyway, we have a special big announcement today, which is why we rushed to get it all done by today, which Narroch is hopefully going to explain to you right now because I am _soooooooooooooo_ rushed right now…**

Yea, and the REAL reason she is so rushed is just the time zone difference…(Narroch speaking) I was the real victim in this chapter. See, we were working on it, nice and easy taking our time. And then Robinrocks came up with the BRILLIANT idea of starting a massive plug campaign. Meaning we update EVERYTHING within the week. Having just finished my finals, my brain was already fried and then she tells me, "OK! Small Print is going up Wednesday! Now write my co-writer SLAVE! Mwahahaha!!"

I tried to run away. It didn't work…(Robinrocks threatened to microchip me, WAH!). So much ficcing in one week…

_What_ ficcing work? Aha, well, as if we would let Christmas pass by without doing _something_ for it! We have been working on something very special indeed. A brand new multi-chaptered fic, entitled _Red Rum_, will be making its debut on (hopefully) Thursday 21st December – that's this Thursday. For a little taster, it is, of course, _Teen Titans_, but it has very heavy elements of _Batman: The Animated Series_ in it (kinda like this, in a way). That's because there's a string of serial killings going on throughout Gotham and Jump, targeting young superheroes; the first victim is none other than Batgirl, and Detective Harvey Bullock is on the case. Yes, we're using Bullock – the fic is, in a lot of ways, almost Bullock-centric. That's because the fic is being treated like a murder investigation, and it makes sense to use the detective's side of things. It does alternate between him and the Titans, however, who have a hugely important part (of course, as it is going to be categorised in the _Teen Titans_ section rather than _Batman: TAS_). Also, forget any comic-relief ideas you might have about Bullock. We are using him as a very serious character, because he's on a very serious case. (Go for it Bullock!)

Anyway, the main reason for this massive plug is because any of you who have Robinrocks on your Author Alert list won't be getting an email on Thursday. This is the first co-written fic Robinrocks and I have done that will be going up on _my_ account rather than hers. It's a big thing. I'm moving up in the world. But since any readers of our stuff tend to follow RR's status rather than mine because everything we have done so far has been on hers, we started a major plug campaign. (Which I lost some sleep over…Finish Small Print in a week, phht….I'm just kidding, don't get me wrong, RR is great)

So yeah, if that interests you, please, _please_ check out my profile "Narroch" on Thursday and take a look at the first Christmas-themed chapter of _Red Rum_.

_Red Rum_? Spell it backwards, kids.

Alright, and on with the show!

**Old Science**

"_Slade…"_

The word sliced through the darkness, viscously dripping with malice and vengeance. The accusing ellipse trail leading off to the unspoken threats still thickly swarming in the air.

The ballistics of the single word had physical power as the shadow that it came from reared up and lashed out with the potent strength of hatred for the sake of redemption.

Another rescuer had tagged in.

TT

It was a long treacherous way back from the main room of Slade's lair to outside, where the T-car was awaiting them, and the Teen Titans took it at their fastest respective speeds, panic nipping at their heels – goading their frantic pace onwards.

Robin did not make it any easier for them.

His blinding obedience and need for Slade coupled with… well, his _blinding_ made him difficult to drag away. A bloody screaming mess that unbelievably still had the strength and impudence to fight back, even if it was only berserker adrenaline and pain dictating his actions.

He thrashed and fought wildly, unable to see through the film of blood and matted hair obscuring his vision, and of course only having one eye… He lashed out at them, screaming in agony and anger and distress, making it hard to hold onto him.

He dug his heels in because he didn't want to be taken away; and then he buckled under them because he didn't have the strength to hold back.

Oh, they remembered what had happened. Robin had been blinded by the death blow Starfire had intended for his _master_. And Slade, after being saved by his apprentice… had just _stood_ there, dumbfounded, because it was obvious to the Teen Titans that it had never occurred to the madman that they might actually _beat_ him.

Even if their victory was tainted with blood, and shattered psyches, and murderous burning probes that dropped them all to the ground in screaming hemorrhaging convulsions.

And then, amidst Robin's bloody agonizing cries, hundreds of bats had burst into the room in a single moving cloud of nebulous echolocation.

The lights had gone out.

The darkness so intense and unexpected more than one of them thought they had finally died.

But, the probes had stopped their assault.

And there _he_ had been.

Throwing up the penalty flag between abuser and abusee.

The Titans had figuratively seen their opportunity in the pitch black chaos to make some dust. They needed an out, they needed an out _badly _and so they took it with no questions, scrambling away from the black blinded room, Cyborg snatching up the writhing Robin on his way out.

Robin had screamed harder when grasped by the cold metallic hands, as though Cyborg was _hurting_ him, despite the agony he was already in.

As he was being _physically torn away_ from his master.

Preoccupied, Slade hadn't even noticed.

Now they pounded and soared down corridor after corridor, blasting their own doors when they could not find a real one. Cyborg was half-dragging, half-carrying Robin, who both couldn't and _wouldn't_ run. And as if Robin's unwillingness was not enough to contend with…

…The entire place was coming down too. In typical final-boss-who-didn't-get-his-way fashion.

Slade's doing; clearly it was his wish that none of them escaped. And that seemed typical of him as well; if Robin was crushed to death too, then so be it.

Three months of work on the boy could be thrown away if it meant that Slade _won_. And at this point winning only meant crushing his opponents into bloody mulch.

The Teen Titans did not intend to be crushed to death.

"_Robin_…!" Cyborg grunted. "Will you… _come on_!" He pulled at the younger boy, who was clinging to a doorframe to prevent being dragged any further.

"I don't… want to _go_!" Robin wailed through sobs. "Let go! _Letgoletgoletgo!_" Cyborg hauled at him, pulling on the arm that Robin had previously dislocated, and Robin gave another guttural scream and let go of the door frame, being pulled away by Cyborg.

"_I don't want to go!_" Robin screamed breathlessly, hammering uselessly at Cyborg's arm. Having had enough, Cyborg hoisted the bleeding boy up under one arm and broke into a run to keep up with the others. He caught up to them just as Starfire effortlessly blasted and ripped her way through a sheet of lead, such was her justifiable fury.

And there, beyond the smoking yawning hole, was salvation.

The outside world.

The T-car.

Robin scrabbled wildly under Cyborg's arm as his four former team-mates broke into a sprint, racing out from the collapsing building towards their getaway vehicle. The second they hurdled out, flames vomited through the ruptured wall after them, so close they could feel the intense roaring heat. The ends of Raven's cloak were singed by it.

Robin either ignored the explosion, or didn't notice. He could barely see, and couldn't hear past this own howling pleas

"Let me go!" He sobbed. "I don't… want to _go_ with you! Put me down! _PutmeDOWN_!!!!" Ignoring his demands, they reached the car and Cyborg unlocked it with a button on his arm; the doors automatically swung open and Beast Boy immediately hopped in the shotgun, followed by Starfire and Raven in the back.

Cyborg put Robin down, expecting him to get into the car as well.

Robin ducked under his arm and ran, or at least _stumbled_ away quickly. More like he was falling forwards and barely managed to catch himself with a trembling leg each time.

"ROBIN!" Cyborg bellowed after him, furious and terrified; as he saw that Robin was heading right back in the direction of that hole Starfire had torn open. If he went back in there…

Well, he would die. Whether it was because he was crushed, or from a backdraft, or he bled to death, or because he found Slade, and Slade—

"X'hal!" Starfire cried. She burst back out of the car and soared right over Robin's head, landing squarely in front of him. She threw out her palm, her fingers ablaze with green fire. "You will not move!" She said, her voice savage and passionate.

He did scrape to a halt, his stance lowering trying to look battle ready. In truth, he could barely stand, and he couldn't see her through the blood and wet matted hair. He could only pick out the bright green bauble hovering in front of his face, and even that looked watery and dim instead of fierce and clean-cut. All the running (staggering) hadn't helped his condition; and given that he was already battered from the fight beforehand, and the fucking before that, and—

And Robin paused, gazing at where he thought her face should be. Real potent hatred in his one remaining eye—

Cyborg grabbed him from behind, crushing him to his chest. Robin _screamed_; half in pain and half in fury.

"Nice work, Star," Cyborg said breathlessly as she joined him; he threw Robin over his shoulder in a fireman's lift as they made their way back to the car.

"I hate you!" Robin screeched, pounding weakly at Cyborg's back. "_I hate all of you!_"

"Robin, please…" Starfire looked up at him in horror. "These words, they are not true—"

"_They are_!" Robin interrupted, seething. He clawed animalistically at her and she ducked back, staring at him. "I hate you all!" He looked at her with a hateful gleam in his one eye. "And I hate _you_ most of all, you alien bitch!"

Starfire shrank back as though he had slapped her, bulbous tears springing to her green eyes.

"Look what you did to me!" He wailed, not even looking at her now. "Look what you did! _I hate you!_ I HATE YOU!!!"

"Starfire, get into the car," Cyborg said stonily as they reached the vehicle again; Beast Boy was leaning out of the passenger side, his green eyes bugged wide open in shock.

Starfire hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, sliding in next to Raven; the empathic girl laid a hand on her friend's shoulder in reassurance.

Meanwhile, Robin thrashed like a wild animal in Cyborg's grip as the cybernetic teen tried to put him into the car.

"NO!" The ex-Boy Wonder shouted, kicking at the door to try and shut it. "I belong here! Don't take me away!"

"Jeez, he's _brainwashed_ you…" Cyborg said in disgust. "And stop kicking my paintjob!"

He batted Robin's feet away from the door and the boy really went berserk; he wasn't even screaming coherent words now – just screaming for the sake of screaming.

Perhaps he was hoping that Slade would hear him and come to his "rescue".

Slippery with blood and sweat; and small and wriggly to begin with, Robin was difficult to hold on to, and every time Cyborg got him into a position that would enable him to shove him into the back seat of the car, the boy managed to writhe out of it and nearly escape from his grip.

In the end, Cyborg had to play dirty. He used his metal fingers to scrape across Robin's ruined eye. He barely touched the horrendous wound, but the nerve endings were so raw, he might as well have prodded the empty eye socket with a stick of salt.

Robin convulsed and _screamed _as fresh blood spurted and then dripped down over his twisted lips. And Cyborg shoved him in across Raven and Starfire's laps; slamming the door and locking it.

The girls wasted no time, and did not allow him to recover; Starfire grabbed his arms and locked them behind his back as he struggled, as Raven muttered her chant and her eyes blazed white.

Her black spectral Soul Self silently soared out of her and dived into Robin's chest. His eye(s) widened and he gave a little gasp; then a little shudder, and then he went limp and still.

Raven reclaimed her Soul Self and settled back; Robin, now unconscious, lay on his back across the girls' laps, his head supported on Starfire's arm.

Cyborg breathed a sigh of relief as he started the car up and revved away down the deserted road.

"Let's go home, team," he said quietly.

Beast Boy nodded vigorously; the green boy was looking rather harassed. C

yborg looked at Robin in the rearview mirror.

"Ray, perhaps you'd better start patching him up," he suggested. "I don't think I just did that wound to his eye any favors…"

Raven nodded and chanted her archaic mantra again.

Starfire nudged her, breaking her concentration.

"_What_?" The telekinetic girl snapped. "Starfire, I'm trying to—"

Starfire bit her lip and pointed at the unconscious Robin's crotch.

At the prominent tent in his leather pants.

"_Oh, Azar_…"

"What is it?" Cyborg asked, looking in the mirror again.

Raven met his gaze with her piercing violet eyes.

"It would seem that Robin's pleasurable reaction to cutting was an indication of what we have on our hands," she said carefully.

"Which _is_…?" Beast Boy probed.

"I don't know exactly what Slade did to Robin for all those months, but we must make the conjecture that it was severely _worse_ than what we saw today."

"What could be _worse_?" Starfire burst out. "Slade, he—"

"We all saw what he did, Starfire," Raven interrupted coldly. "And we all saw how Robin reacted to it. But _this_…" She indicated to Robin's excited groin. "…_This_ is because of the pain he is in. Whether through endorphin-mechanics, learned behavior, or simply Robin's conscious choice, the extra pain Cyborg just inflicted on his eye…"

"Robin gets turned on by pain?" Beast Boy asked.

"It would seem that way," Raven replied.

"Then…" Cyborg paused for a moment or two trying to digest the unpalatable concept. "Then that would make him a…"

"…_Masochist_," Raven finished quietly. "I fear that Slade has corrupted him in ways we cannot even _begin_ to surmise…"

"Then what do we do?" Beast Boy demanded. "How do we break him from it?"

"I… do not know that we _can_," Raven replied sadly.

"What does this _mean_ for him?" Starfire asked tearfully, finding Robin's gloved hand and clutching it.

"One thing," Cyborg answered gravely. "He's not the Robin who was taken from us. He's changed into something we don't even recognize… It means, Starfire…"

He looked into the mirror at Robin again and heaved a miserable sigh.

"…That our Boy Wonder has gone completely _insane_…"

TT

"You really think you can _defeat_ me…?"

Slade hissed it through the darkness and smoke and silence, his tone mocking despite the wounds the intruder had already inflicted on him.

Not that he hadn't returned the favor.

_He_ (that cursed… _rat_) remained silent.

Slade truly did not think that he could be _defeated_ by this man; this _moron_ of a man, in his Halloween costume…

But he knew he was in trouble.

_Batman_ was never a good one to pick a fight with.

"_Really_, Batman…" Slade whipped out his staff, twirling six feet of trauma idly in the dark. "You barge in here uninvited, and now are so rude as to not even _speak_ to me?"

There was another period of hard silence; in truth, Slade – _Slade_ – did not know quite where the Dark Knight was.

But then he spoke.

"I have nothing to say to you…"

Slade's sharp hearing followed the sound and direction of the other man's voice, darting silently towards him—

Batman barely grunted as the knife grazed his shoulder; and it was only stopped from going right _through_ his shoulder by his own hearing and reflexes. Whipping around, his cape soaring behind him in a wide circle, he landed a kick right to Slade's chest.

It would have snapped anyone else's ribs.

Slade only stumbled back a few paces and righted himself even as the knife clattered on metal.

Above, something sparked, the emergency system wearily kicked itself to life and the single surviving light came on, dull and flickering slightly through the silt that still hung thick in the air.

They stood facing each other on a metal catwalk above the main room, amidst gears that no longer turned; and creaked and groaned precariously, ready to fall and join those that had already plummeted during the original shake-up triggered by Slade's self-destruct sequence.

Batman – whom Slade had never met in person until now – was every bit the terrifying creature the "superstitious and cowardly lot" that were crooks and criminals described him as. Thrown into baroque detail from the single bulb, he seemed like a wraith, a harbinger of twisted justice that wrote the nightmare song for the diseased underbelly of Gotham.

His mere presence was enough to make Slade's aggression salivate in anticipation of the battle before him. The Dark Knight crouched in a low stance, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into an unholy snarl, and Slade was not disappointed by him.

Not at all.

"We appear to have gotten off to a rather bad start," Slade said lazily, deciding to see if he was as easily baited and taunted as his little sidekick…

"I admit that you impress me, Batman. You are in fact _more_ than I expected. Have you _really_ nothing to say to me?"

Batman uttered a low, inhuman growl.

And then;

"_You're an utter monster_…"

Slade smiled idly behind his mask, happy to hear the fire and brimstone flaring in the avenger's voice.

"Ah, _there's_ your tongue…"

Batman's powerful shoulders flexed.

"You think yourself amusing, Slade?"

Slade cocked his head at the rhetorical question.

"Ah, you know my name. How flattering." His eye narrowed. "How _quaint_. I suppose your little Boy-toy Wonder told tales on me to you all those months ago? The months before I _took_ him…?"

"I know who you are. I know what you've done." Batman's clenched fists shook. "I know that _death_ would be too _merciful_ to you."

"Such cruel words. I am honored to be on the receiving end of your renowned vicious tongue," Slade mocked. "I expect this means you _know_ what I did to your little partner?"

Batman gave a tiny, imperceptible shiver.

"I can imagine…"

"_Can_ you?"

The two of them began to circle each other slowly, like predatory animals, sizing the other up. The pressure in the room steadily rising as the unseen tension strained the space between them. The dynamic interplay of wills already battling fiercely even though there was no physical contact.

Yet.

"I suppose I must thank you," Slade said softly.

"I never appreciated how well trained Robin was until I began to teach him myself. You did an excellent job in that…"

"If he allowed himself to be held hostage by _you_, clearly I did not train him well _enough_," Batman retorted icily.

"He had no choice in the matter. His decision to remain at my side was a noble one. He did it only to save his friends…"

Batman's eyes narrowed as he instantly pieced the puzzle together.

"Blackmail?"

Slade gave a little laugh, lazily holding up the trigger.

"You sound _surprised_." He sighed. "Oh yes, he agreed, to save his friends. But there was _small print_ that he didn't care to read. _So many things_ he did not realize he was agreeing to…"

There is only so far you can push insinuation before reality comes back to bite.

With a sudden furious roar, Batman lunged; sinew and muscle flowing alongside black cloth and clinging gray spandex as the archetype of fear took flight to do battle.

The man was positively _terrifying_.

Slade took the blow; and then locked his arm around it, and again they froze, gazing at each other with such intense hatred, the air between them sizzled.

A hatred that burned in a manner that was far more scorching than _Robin's_ had ever been for Slade. Robin had hated Slade because he had never been able to unravel every last clue, never been able to catch the enigma; but with that hatred there had been fascination, obsession, maybe even a twisted kind of _crush_ all along.

_Slade had never hated Robin_.

"Oh, all the things I could _tell_ you, Batman," Slade hissed. "Things you would never believe of your Boy Wonder. If only we had the time…"

"If your words that you blackmailed him are true, then he is not to blame for _anything_ that's happened," Batman snapped coldly.

"I wouldn't be so sure…"

Batman wrenched his arm free; and Slade used that momentum to overbalance the Dark Knight and throw him up against the metal bar at the edge of the catwalk. A broken, twisted piece of the railing ran into Batman's gut, making him grunt again, biting back a scream as it sank through his flesh and settled somewhere in him.

Pushing against him, Slade twisted Batman's black serrated arm up his back; and impaled in the front by that twisted piece of metal, the Dark Knight was in no position to break the hold like he normally would. He knew of a particularly sensitive pressure point located right between the tendons of the hand, but he couldn't even turn enough to grasp at the hand imprisoning him.

"As I said," Slade drawled, "you cannot defeat me, so why don't you just listen to me for now? Who knows; perhaps I'll even let you live…"

He gave another wrench on Batman's arm but the other man did not make a sound.

"The Teen Titans," Slade breathed. "I can destroy them at the push of button; Robin agreed to serve me to prevent that from happening. I wished to train him as my apprentice and heir, but I also wished for more. That child really does have such a lovely body…"

"_God_…" Batman uttered.

Slade snorted.

"I would not be surprised if _you_ had gotten there _before_ me on that front, actually," he spat. "You cannot deny there is something enchanting about him; something that, at the same time, makes you want to _hurt_ him. Something that makes you want to squeeze and bend him until he screams in agony—"

"I have _never_ had such vile and perverse thoughts about my sidekick!" Batman interrupted furiously, scandalized appall coating his response. "I am not like you!"

Slade smiled; recognizing the familiar line and playing along.

"_He_ is very like _you_…"

"And nothing like _you_, I hope…" Batman grunted.

"You will be disappointed, then. Robin has always been like me. That is why he was even led into this trap in the first place…"

"You kidnapped, blackmailed, enslaved and _destroyed_ a sixteen year old boy," Batman growled. "Robin would never do something like that. _He is not like you_."

"I cannot account for that. Robin's state of mind is no longer, ah… completely _stable_…"

"And you're proud of that."

"What _else_ can I be?"

"_Ashamed_." Batman spat the word out like poison. "You should be ashamed, and sorry…"

Slade gave another twist to Batman's arm; but the Dark Knight still uttered no satisfying scream.

"I'm not."

"_How do you sleep at night_?" Batman hissed.

"Usually on top."

Batman shuddered.

"You're disgusting…"

"And Robin _isn't_?" Slade sounded a little insulted. "You and the Titans share an interesting perception of him; a pure, good little boy who can do no wrong. But _you_ are the ones who are wrong – because he is not what you think he is. I'll admit to raping him the first night, but after that… it was always consensual. He adapted to it, even grew to enjoy it, then _crave_ it… If you and his friends think he fought me every night for three months, you are blind to what has been in front of you all along."

"And _that_ would be…?" Batman demanded, hissing in pain through his teeth.

"That your so-called "Boy Wonder" is a weak-willed little _slut_."

"Don't talk about him like—"

"And why shouldn't I?" Slade interrupted in a low, savage hiss. "After all, he's _my_ weak-willed little slut…"

Slade rammed Batman further onto the spike of twisted metal; and Batman let out a gasping groan.

"Just use your imagination for a moment," Slade whispered. "Just picture this… That boy you trained, the boy you respect… Imagine him _willingly _undressing and _willingly_ lying down on his stomach. Imagine him sighing in pleasure when I touch him and deliberately, _willingly_, spreading his legs when I lift his hips. Imagine him gasping and groaning when I enter him, and imagine—"

"_STOP_!" Batman yelled. "Don't say another _word_, you sick—"

"Too much for you?"

"I don't see why you are telling me," Batman breathed, "when Robin has been taken from you."

"Yes." Slade nodded in affirmation. "And I want him _back_."

"His friends will not give him up again."

"I was not planning on _asking_ them." Slade ran his thumb softly over the button.

"Were you planning on _this_?"

Hoisting one foot up onto the bar as leverage, Batman summoned all of his strength and threw the villain over his shoulder – flinging him over the edge of the catwalk to send him plummeting to the jagged abyss below.

He grasped at Slade's wrist as he fell and came away with what he wanted.

He heard the crashing and clanging of metal against metal and then the _squelch _of bone rupturing flesh upon the final anticlimactic thud. The fall was farther than Batman had thought, and yet Slade had not uttered a single cry during his final free falling seconds on Earth.

Taking a deep breath, Batman extricated himself from the twisted metal spike and stumbled backwards, groaning and clutching at his bleeding gut. He stemmed it with his cloak as he threw the trigger to the metal floor of the catwalk where it clattered awkwardly away, as if trying to escape judgment A futile attempt as Batman easily crushed it underfoot.

In one swift stamp, he destroyed the contract; he _shattered_ the _small print_.

He unlocked Robin's shackles.

Too bad that he was far too late to _save_ him.

_Somewhere, in an unseen dimension on the dark side of the moon, ruled by godless gods, the Universal Murphy laughed so hard he almost choked._

TT

Raven glanced up, the luminous healing power fading away to be replaced with concern that knitted her brows together and twisted her normally deadpan lips even further downwards. She appeared breathless, and her pale complexion was more ashen than what was considered normal for her. "There's something wrong." The words chilled the car's interior and filtered through flesh to grip at the Titans' hearts.

"What do you mean, Raven?" Beast Boy asked unsteadily, still trying unsuccessfully to stem the shining clotless arterial liquid dripping down his face from the stab wound Robin had so graciously given him. He wouldn't stop bleeding because all the clotting factors in his blood stream had been used up. His blood wouldn't coagulate, and the tissues he was using were soaking through.

They were all having that same problem. While Raven attempted to heal Robin's much more _serious_ wounds, the others contented themselves with patching up their own injuries while Cyborg drove with a lead foot through the city. But none of them could stop their bleeding. They were just starting to feel safe enough to start worrying about their own well being when Raven suddenly pushed them all back into panic-over-Robin mode with those three words.

"These injuries go beyond the strength of my healing abilities and he already lost a substantial amount of blood. We need to get him help."

Raven stared at Beast Boy balling up tissue wads on his face and quietly added;

"And us too…" She sank back into her seat with a soft groan, clutching at her knee.

Starfire reached down and stroked Robin's blood matted hair, trying to stop the tremble in her lip.

"Raven, please… Robin, he will be okay?"

The empath looked up and didn't say anything, but the bone-deep weariness etched clearly into her face coupled with the intense sadness in her eyes belied her silence.

Robin was far from _okay_.

As if to confirm Raven's silent apologetic stare, Robin groaned softly, the pained noise trailing off to a high pitched whine that had to compete with the rattling in his breath. Breathing like that was never a good sign. People breathing like that usually didn't live for very long.

Cyborg floored it.

**TT**

He was cold.

Frigid, even.

But he couldn't feel himself shivering, or even pretend to imagine that goosebumps were prickling over his flesh.

He vaguely knew that this kind of paralyzing chill was not due to a physical draft, though that could be part of the problem.

No, it was a_ lack_ of feeling that he was experiencing instead of any actual coldness. He felt strangely detached from his broken body, or perhaps he was so far gone that his brain just stopped acknowledging the pain receptors and the frantic racing nerves trying to deliver damage reports: The raw searing pain in his eye, the splintered stabbing in his rib cage, the cuts and bites on his shredded left arm, all the various wounds scattered across his body. All had blissfully faded to black background noise in his mind.

Instead the pain was replaced with that cold blankness. It was a nice (if not unsettling) numbness, a natural anesthetization that promised to let him not feel anything ever again if he would just go back to sleep.

He knew he should be concerned by this. Pain is proof that you are still alive, still fighting. Feeling nothing, he might as well be dead.

But he knew that he wasn't. He had disjointed visual flashes that were so foggy and dreamlike he wasn't sure whether the visions were happening at that moment or were just dreams his weary blood starved mind fabricated.

But he was fairly certain that Starfire's face, looking the size and color of Jupiter to his dazed senses, wasn't something a dead mind could conjure up…Too orange…

And Raven was there too. Rhythmically chanting something that flowed just beneath his comprehension like a beautiful brook. The current of words was not wide, just her single voice which wavered in and out of his hearing, but it was as deep as the universe.

She was glowing too… weird.

Cyborg and Beast Boy were there as well. Cyborg had his back to Robin, hunched over a wheel, apparently hell bent on breaking it in two. The look of resolve in his shaking clenched fist (which was all Robin could see of him) was frightening.

Beast Boy was only viewed in profile, apparently halfway transformed into some subspecies of polka-dotted sheep. There were tufts of red and white cotton hanging off his face.

Coherency had disappeared along with his AWOL bodily sensations, and so Robin giggled at the thought of polka-dotted sheep.

He couldn't understand the images he saw (or determine if they were even real), but he knew he was still alive because of them. It had to be a cosmic law written somewhere…death couldn't, _shouldn't_ be this weird.

But that flimsy thought gave him little comfort when he suddenly saw something, _someone,_ completely unexpected.

By this point, he wouldn't have been too surprised or overly concerned if Slade had joined in the tea party wearing a sombrero. But it wasn't Slade that he saw.

It wasn't even Batman.

He saw _himself. _

(Well, there goes the neighborhood…)

He, the _other_ one, was perched between the vague fading forms of Cyborg and Beast Boy, looking quite crisp and bright compared to everyone else. It, _that_ one, wasn't just a mere reflection either. The hallucination (as Robin decided that's what it _had_ to be) had opted to come dressed in full Titan uniform, complete with tri colored suit, big yellow R, and gleaming spiked hair.

The poster boy.

The flawless effigy was smug, crouched down, balanced on the balls of his feet, gazing at the broken creature before him with a look of detached disgust.

"I knew Slade was ruthless, but this is cruel even by _his_ standards."

He looked at Robin, from head to toe – following the rivulets of blood, tracing the wracked body with his covered eyes.

The real Robin was still trying to get his struggling mind around the issue of himself being at two places at once and didn't think to bother correcting the other one about Slade.

The _Titans_ had hurt him like this; not his master.

But the other one continued, still chatting away to himself (no pun intended), seemingly unaware of Robin's growing concern.

_How can there be two of me? And what in the world am I – is **he** – wearing? Did I **really**_ _think that clown suit was **intimidating**? _

He was stuck stumbling on the basics, his brain slowed considerably by blood loss and emotional jetlag, while the other one looked like he was gearing up to have a debate with him.

"I can't believe you let this happen. Allowed yourself to be _used_ by that villain."

_What? _

"Why didn't you escape? Or trick him? Did you forget everything Batman taught you?"

_Trick? Escape? _

"You shouldn't have been taken hostage in the first place. What were you thinking? Obviously it was a trap."

Robin floundered under the barrage, but was starting to piece together what the facsimile was saying. He found himself growing angry at the arrogant fool who had the gall to lecture him, but knew absolutely nothing. He didn't know about the blackmail, the fear, the pain, the pleasure, the _connection_ between him and Slade. This innocent assuming version was so naïve it irritated and sickened him, so he felt justified in replying;

"Shut up, you ignorant prick."

And he was surprised to hear his own voice ring through the thin air quite clearly. He half expected it to sound as gargled and detached as the rest of him felt. But, then again, this dreamlike state wasn't playing by the rules of reality to begin with so having a strong voice when his body was struggling just to breathe seemed believable.

His clone stopped mid-sentence and glared.

"Ignorant? I'm not the one enslaved to that _villain_."

The final word smeared into an ugly brogue.

"You mean _Slade_," Real Robin drawled lazily.

This former Hero Robin still hadn't figured Slade out, and it showed in the way he screwed his face up at the very _mention_ of his archenemy.

"Yes, _him_."

"I'm not enslaved, I'm his apprentice."

"That's _worse_!" The Titan burst out, looking aghast now. "You're doing this by _choice_?"

Robin considered this for a moment, not sure how to explain that their relationship only worked because he had given up on freewill. Initially he did have a choice but the consequences of _that_ were unthinkable, so he gave in to Slade. Afterwards, it became habit, routine to ignore his own needs until he finally couldn't function without Slade's commands. It was strange to be asked about choice when he had stopped thinking for himself for a while now. But, after considering it, he supposed he _was_ there off his own back. He could have run away during that mission or even before that when Slade's security had relaxed.

So he answered with an apathetic shrug.

"Yes, I suppose…"

In the end it didn't really matter whose will kept him there, only that he remained.

Apparently it mattered a great deal to _this_ Robin. He sputtered on the blasphemous response, masked eyes going wide, and he couldn't think of anything to say for a second, the answer was so disturbing and unexpected.

"But, you're a _hero_!" As if that would explain away everything…

"No, you're the hero, not me."

"I _am_ you! You were a hero once before, I'm _proof_ of that. I'm the real you." The other Robin's voice dropped low. "…The _Ideal You_."

That raised Robin's eyebrows. This _child_ thought himself the epitome of righteousness. He was a Hero, timeless, archetypal doer of good. Rigid morals were his core; feats of strength and acts of justice his foundation. He selflessly took it upon himself to defend the world, as if Ultimate Reality, as if the sustaining frame of existence, were something weak and helpless. His arrogance and hypocrisy sickened Robin.

There were no real heroes. Only people who thought that what they were doing was right. Right for the world, right for others, right for themselves. Justifiable.

The "Ideal" kept on going, getting into a rhythm of reasons.

"You can't turn your back on them! Your friends, the Titans, Batman, everything you stand for!"

"I'm not turning my back on anyone."

The Ideal Robin skeptically sneered at the apprentice uniform.

"Your outfit speaks of betrayal."

"But I didn't betray anyone," the _Real_ Robin replied, feeling surprisingly calm. The numbness was affecting his emotions as well…

"I don't buy that."

"I know you don't."

"There's too much wrong with it."

"Tell me."

"For one thing, you are working for that madman, the same one you swore to bring to justice."

Robin chuckled softly and came straight back;

"You work for a man dressed as a bat; _that's_ pretty mad if you ask me."

"Batman isn't evil."

"Batman is working outside of the law, _breaking_ the law, in order to do what he believes in. Slade is no different. He is following what he believes is right."

"What's right for _himself,_ you mean. He doesn't care about anyone else. Slade is no vigilante."

"Batman is pulling his crusade for selfish reasons too. You know it's true. If his parents hadn't been murdered, he never would have started. And you are wrong about Slade, he does care…"

"About who?" Skepticism coated his arrogant voice like cling film.

"Well, he cares… about… he cares about… _me_…"

Robin felt something glow and fizz inside him. He never thought that it would be possible to believe something like that. But having admitted it to his former self, he was also able to accept it as he was. Slade _did_ care about him. It was twisted, yes, but there was an undeniable bond there. He relished the warm feeling of obligation it brought.

"He can't care about you. He's going to _kill_ you."

"Maybe. But then I will just die earlier than I am supposed to, not better than I am supposed to. And how I die or when doesn't interest me. What I die _for_ does. It's the same as what I live for."

"And what is it that you live for?"

"Being Slade's apprentice."

"What kind of life is that?"

"Very satisfying."

The Hero frowned.

"Leaving your friends? Committing crimes? Betraying your oaths? There is no love in that."

"No love? _No love_? You don't understand. What I'm doing isn't about hating anyone. It's about loving them. About loving _him_. About loving _you_. My whole life is love. But _you_…" He looked up at the pristine poster boy. "_You_ can know nothing of love. What do you think it _is_? Wanting to help people? You are arrogant enough to think that because you save people, you can love them, and that _they_ should love _you_? Are they _obliged_ to love you, because of that? Because you're their poster boy? No, no, _no_ – _that_ isn't love. It _isn't_ love. It's infatuation. It's hero-worship. God, it's _arrogance_, _self_-love. But _real_ love? I don't think so. Real love is _old_, poster boy. _Real_ love is older and deeper than anything that _you_ – yes, yes, _you_ – can ever understand. _Real_ love isn't answering the Bat-signal or your Titans communicator. _Real_ love isn't flirting with Starfire. _Real_ love is _science_. _Old, old **science**_."

"You're confused," Mr Ideal muttered, shaking his head; bewildered at the lengthy, garbled speech the battered apprentice had just spat out. _Puked_ out, like the twisted deranged _badness_ in him.

"Am I? Or am I just confusing _you_?"

"Shut up." Oh, the _Real_ Robin could hear so much of himself in those two words; how arrogant he had been before Slade had stripped it all away…

"Obviously Slade brainwashed you. He's just _using_ you, can't you _see_ it?"

"People have been using me my whole life. Batman used me as an emotional crutch; he used me as his legacy. The Titans used me as an excuse to fulfill their own desires. They needed a leader to follow and I was the one they chose. Slade is using me as his apprentice. Everybody wants something from me. Something they think they can't get anywhere else. Something they think _I_ have. I don't know what it is – I mean what it _really _is."

"You're crazy. You're _crazy_." Ideal Robin intoned it, _stressed_ it.

"That's a distinct possibility. But I understand things now, better than I ever could have with the Titans."

"And what _is_ this almighty revelation, huh? What could _Slade_ possibly teach you that _I _don't know?" Hero Robin inquired loftily.

Robin smiled halfheartedly, hundreds of obvious answers to the naive question racing through his head, but he picked only one to make his point.

"Not everything is black and white."

The Titan Robin opened his mouth to say something in reply, but couldn't think of anything. He didn't understand the true meaning of the words, and bluffing to himself seemed more like denial; totally pointless. So he huffed, flipped his cape, and leaned back against the metal wall that materialized behind him. He didn't like the direction of the conversation, obviously going into uncharted territories, _here there be dragons_ and what not.

_This_ Robin liked having complete control of the situation, but the beaten broken bloody Robin was very nonchalant about everything, letting the conversation drift wherever it pleased with no fear whatsoever. He had an answer for everything, and even if the logic was clearly skewed it didn't matter. Only his belief in his answers mattered. And he had accepted his role as Apprentice, so the Hero's opinions mattered very little indeed. He could barely see, he _couldn't_ move, and the numbness was intensifying, deepening its hold. He was only his breath, coming much slower now, and his thoughts. The rest of him had disappeared. So the thoughts came, unobstructed by his former doubts and sense of self.

"I'm going to _kill_ him," the Hero hissed finally.

"Kill who?" Even his _inner_ voice was cracking now.

"Slade, of course! If you stay like this… he'll have _won_." The Hero was getting angry now. He clenched his emerald fist, and glared at his weak surrendered self. "Do you want that? Do you? Is that what you _want_?"

What Robin _wanted_ was to roll his eyes, but was he too tired to manage it.

"Like it's some sort of _game_… Seriously, I'm pretty sure I can't kill anyone right now."

"That's why you need to come back to the Titans, back to me, back to what you used to be!"

Hero Robin was getting excited now; hoping to convert the sinner and redeem his soul. He stepped closer and kneeled down so that his perfect, well-defined face was looming over the Real Robin's slack smeared one.

"What I used to be? You mean go back to being a Titan, when I considered myself to be something. Something important, something vital. God, I was so _arrogant_… No, I can't go back to being you. I can _never_ be you again."

"But _why_?"

Mr Ideal's voice was now a whine; he was losing the battle to this shredded insane version of himself. But this apprenticed Robin, he sounded so _convinced_. He had no doubts. No fear of dying, or living, or simply being. He no longer seemed to care, and that distressed the Hero to no end.

_His_ entire _life_ was built around caring. Caring about his team, caring about the citizens he protected, caring about his _duty_. His poster boy image. To not _care_, apathy was such a foreign concept; it scared the Titan. It would make him unnecessary.

"I'll _die_ if you don't come back to the Titans!" He said desperately, reaching for him; reaching to reclaim the part of himself that he had lost.

Lost to _Slade_. Lost to the one thing he _hated_ – and _loved_ – most of all.

The Apprentice gave a short weak laugh as his eyes began to slide closed once more.

"But you're already dead… _Robin_." He whispered his own name, another tainting on his breath, like blood. "The Teen Titan in me died a long time ago."

The Hero spoke no more. And when Robin cracked his eye open again to look for his ornery companion, he found he was alone in his darkening subconscious once again.

He was so damned cold…

**TT**

"_EEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_…."

The electrocardiograph apologetically flat-lined as Robin's heart stopped pumping in an organized pulse; instead the muscles just quivered out of sync. The paramedics _swarmed_ over him in all their starchy white hospital scrub glory, shoving violently at his chest, shouting medical jargon at each other, frantically adjusting machines. Squeeze this, push that, charge the defibrillator, everyone CLEAR!

They all jumped back like a flock of birds taking flight as the grey pads shot a current through Robin's chest, jerking him off the table. It seemed to work as several red lights flickered back to green, and a mountain range grew from the level digital line.

But the doctors did not slow their breakneck medical wonder speed. Hollow invasive tubes were inserted, IVs full of chemicals with names longer than the entire alphabet were drawn, leather was cut away to expose the struggling jerking ribcage, needles were tested into the air removing the fatal oxygen bubbles, and pristine sanitary instruments so sharp they cut the very air around them were snatched up and passed to the appropriate calling hand. It looked extremely chaotic from the outside, but everyone knew their role, and everyone was working hard to save the life that was now rapidly burning out.

No one cared to hazard a guess how few beats were left in the tired heart. He had just lost _too much _blood. Trauma wasn't even the word to describe the body the Titans had carried into the hospital. He was the same color as the bleached sterile sheets, cold as the examination table itself. Blood was spattered everywhere across him, and the tiny rasp of air barely wafting through his lips was the only sign of life in the boy.

Panic was not a word associated with the well trained, well practiced Jump City hospital staff, but a generous portion of _alarm_ had been dumped on them when they saw the condition of their patient.

The machine once again emitted a piercing insect drone and the nurses and doctors descended upon Robin in a vulture-like frenzy.

It was going to be a long night.

**TT**

In a lot of ways, it seemed questionable as to _why_ they had fought so hard to keep him alive. There was no doubt that, _without_ said medical attention, he would have died.

It wasn't just his wounds.

Half of the battle in retrieving someone from death's door is their will to fight for their life.

And Robin – a Robin so far from the original Hero, who always fought for _everything_ he believed in, no matter how slim his chances of winning – was not fighting.

So the doctors and nurses had had to fight _for_ him.

His heart had stopped beating no less than sixteen times, and so he had received no less than sixteen doses of heart-jerking shockwaves through his chest from the defibrillator.

He had been given an emergency blood transfusion, ignorant of the fact that he was lucky, at this moment, to have a common blood type.

There were so many stitches in him he looked, now, like a rag doll – pieces of material sewn together to form him. Black stark on white. Like something out of _The Nightmare Before Christmas_.

His left arm was in plaster cast; Beast Boy's hyena teeth had all but splintered the bone and several surgical pins were necessary to reconstruct the limb.

His slit wrist – which he had, of course, done himself – had been stitched back up very firmly.

There was very little else of him not covered by bandages or Band Aids; large squares of translucent hospital sticking plaster. His right eye was cleaned up, (the doctors had said it had been cauterized, enough that it was what probably saved his life) covered by a wad of sticking plaster, and then bandaged there at a diagonal angle across his head, like a bandanna. His mask was removed, so that his one remaining eye – long-lashed – was visibly closed. His hair, still matted with blood and sweat, had been pushed right back to show all of his bruised face.

Beneath the short green hospital gown, his chest was bandaged, as was his back where that barb of metal had taken a chunk out of him.

There had been whispered murmurs of disgust as the leather and metal had been cut away to reveal that jagged "S".

His dislocated arm had been attended to – being set properly back into place instead of being snapped back into the socket like a Lego brick.

It had not gone unnoticed, for the record, that he had obviously been anally raped, and several times at that. _More_ than several. He was practically torn _open_.

Still, for now, he was not a victim of any kind of abuse – any kind of personal space violation. He was lying on his back in a metal bed, the sheets up under his arms, his head sunk into the pillow, sound asleep. He had tubes in his nose and in his right wrist, running off to various machines. Several IV tubes, a heart monitor. He did not require breathing apparatus as he was, miraculously, still breathing on his own – it was a wonder, but he hadn't actually stopped breathing at all.

It was just his _heart_ that seemed to be more jaded about the whole thing.

Maybe in _more_ than one kind of way.

It was over twenty four hours since the Teen Titans had first burst into Slade's operations base, gate-crashing the disgusting little sex party he and his apprentice had been having. Over twenty four hours since they had beaten their former leader almost to death in the name of liberation. Over twenty four hours since they had torn into the hospital, bleeding and battered themselves; Cyborg carrying Robin (hanging by a thread), Starfire in floods of tears, Beast Boy and Raven with their arms over each other's shoulders, each holding the other up.

Over twenty four hours later, Starfire, crowned princess of Tamaran, sat on a chair pulled right up to Robin's bedside, her head in her hands.

_Being_ the crowned princess of Tamaran, and therefore being an extraterrestrial, Starfire's alien physiology had disallowed her to become as badly injured as her team-mates. Her strength was greater, her skin was thicker and more durable, her bones were stronger. Tamaraneans were engineered for the harsh conditions of space, and so a few knocks to the head and some cuts and bruises were nothing to her.

Starfire was, if nothing else, a warrior.

But she was also a creature of emotion; of great heart, whose feelings consumed and ruled her, as was the way of her people.

And right now, Starfire was _distraught_. Utterly _beside_ herself.

It was she – _she_; wicked, bad _monster_ – who had taken Robin's eye out. She who had caused him such harrowing agony. She remembered his screams; the way he had writhed on the floor, clutching at his eye, with that viscous crimson liquid spurting between his fingers and staining his once-perfect poster boy face.

She had _hurt_ him.

The other Titans could not be here at his side. Villains did not rest, not at all; and Cyborg, Beast Boy and Raven had been called away by their duty.

Starfire would not leave his side; and although they were two members down now, they had not pressed for her to join them, for they knew she would be no use to them. As before, Starfire was governed by her emotions.

The fury of the fray brought starbolts to her fingertips and to her flaming jade eyes.

Confidence enabled her to haul objects over twenty times her size and weight above her head.

And _joy_ made her airborne.

Starfire felt none of those things as she huddled in the chair next to the Boy Wonder's hospital cot, and so she was functionless. Vulnerable. She would not come, but she was no good to them in this state anyway.

She _loved_ him. She loved him more than _anything_. She loved him, wanted him, _needed_ him more than Slade ever could or would.

To Slade, it was all just a game; but _Robin_ had never been his opponent, as the Boy Wonder had always thought.

Oh no, it was Slade vs. the _Titans_. Always had been.

And Robin – beautiful little Robin – was the _prize_.

"_It's about you. It's always been about you…"_

To Starfire, and to Cyborg and to Beast Boy and to Raven, this was not a game; and to them, Slade was more disgusting they had ever deemed possible if he believed he could make light of such a notion.

Of course, Slade was a villain. He had different values. To him, holding hostage and corrupting and twisting and raping and abusing a good, hard-working, virtuous teenaged boy held a different meaning. To him, it was _good_.

_And he saw that it was good_.

Perhaps, in his own mind, Slade was a _god_. God of godless gods. And Robin was a toy; a model, a creation to be shaped and changed. To Slade, Robin was not a human being – with feelings, with needs.

To Slade, Robin was simply Robin; something he had seen one day, like a toy in a shop window, and decided he _wanted_.

Any normal human being would and should know that they can't have everything they want, and this rule especially applies to another person. Starfire, for example, had wanted Robin desperately in so many ways from the day she had _met_ him, but she had never truly come any closer to _getting_ him. You can't just _take_ another human being against their will and cage them.

And it wasn't that Slade didn't _know_ that.

But it was fairly fucking obvious by now that _Slade_ wasn't a normal human being.

Starfire, an alien, was far more human than _he_ could _ever_ be.

She understood love far more than he ever could.

Love was science. A science far older than medicine, than remedies; far older than any of the equipment which had saved Robin's life last night. Far older than Victorian remedies; than Indian ones; than medieval ones; than Roman ones; than Egyptian ones; than stone age ones.

Love had the power to heal what medicine never could.

Science. A science older than time itself.

_Starfire_ could understand that.

And _Slade_ could not.

It was as she sat there, enveloped by such destructive science, that she heard the rustles of bed sheets; her head sharply lifted, and… _yes, he had moved!_

She saw in wonderment his hand flex slightly, his shoulders twitch.

_And then he opened that one blue eye._

"_Robin_…!" Starfire breathed it, her voice catching. She leapt to her feet and _then_ she was inches from the ground, joy swelling in her like a balloon being inflated in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him, but she knew she must not, as his condition was so fragile. "Oh, _Robin_!"

He looked at her, first confusion, and then disinterest, present in his single eye.

"_Where's… Slade_?" He whispered, his voice dry.

Starfire dropped back to Earth, suddenly angry.

"He is gone, Robin. He shall not harm you again."

Robin gave a piteous, heaving little sigh and closed his eye again.

"Robin!" Starfire shook the rail of his bed frantically.

He didn't answer, but he grimaced, and she let off, sitting down again.

"Robin, _please_ speak to me," she begged, tears streaming down her face; half happy and half agonized. "I have missed you so much, and feared so much for you."

"I… can't…" Robin winced, as though talking was painful to him. "I must… go…"

"Go? What do you mean, _go_?" Starfire asked frantically. "You cannot go. You must stay here, Robin, where you are safe. You are very unwell, you will not recover if you go now."

"I can't… stay…" He turned his head slightly away from her, still with his eye squinched shut. "Titans… I need…"

"Yes, Robin, we will look after you," Starfire said frantically. "We will never allow any harm to come to you again, I swear to X'hal."

"No… you don't…" He gave a sudden heaving breath and Starfire jumped up.

"Robin, you are—"

"…_Slade_!" Robin panted it, near gasping.

Starfire's eyes flared green momentarily.

"I shall destroy him where he stands the next time I set eyes upon him," she vowed.

"_No_…!" Robin sounded desperate. "Star… fire… I need…"

"You need _us_!" Starfire gabbled, reaching for his hand and clasping it in her inhuman grip. "And we need _you_. Please, you will be okay. You are safe now. You are _safe_ from that madman. He shall never lay another hand on you."

"I… go…" Robin weakly shook his head form side to side, gripping at her hand even so. "I have… to _go_…"

"_No_…" Starfire bit her lip, sobbing silently. "You must not go! Please, Robin, be strong! Fight, _please_! You must stay here with us, and we will go home to Titans Tower when you are better, and everything will be as it should. We will let no more harm come to you."

It was her conjecture that he was losing his fight; that he was fading, and she may have been right. Either way, her solution was that if she refused to let him say goodbye, he could not leave her.

So she clutched at his hand more tightly.

"You will see, Robin," she went on quickly. "You will see, you shall regain your strength and recover from your wounds, and you shall become a Titan again, and everything will be normal and happy again. You can forget every horror that he bestowed upon you for our sake. Robin, I am so sorry… what you did, what _he_ did…"

He gave an agonized little sigh and she noticed that his breathing was becoming very shallow.

His hand was growing limp in hers.

"_Robin_!" She sobbed. "Robin, _please_…! You must not die, do you hear me? _You must not_ _die_!"

"Star…" He panted that too. "I can't… so… _tired_…"

"_X'hal_!" The alien girl's entire body was shaking with wracking sobs. She reaching through them – her hand found the side of his face, feeling tears on his pale cheek. "Robin… _please_… I love you. I _love_ you…"

"I'm…" He drew another ragged breath. "…_Sorry_…"

He went still.

Starfire pulled back from him, her English tongue shocked from her; she whispered to herself in her native language, her eyes wet and wide.

And then she _screamed_.

She gripped the metal side of the cot.

Her strength returned to her – _somehow_ – she crushed the stainless steel as easily as though it were tin foil.

And with another, sudden, unharmonious, unempathic _beep_, the electrocardiograph he was plugged into flatlined once more.

----------------------------------------------------------------

**Wa ha ha ha ha, is all I can say on the matter… Merry Christmas to ya, lil' _Small Print_ fans! Don't hate us too much… :) **

And don't complain that Robin fighting like a animal in one scene and then nearly dying in the next is unrealistic. Cause it isn't...It's called adrenaline.

Anyways, Happy Holidays, and leave us a review as a present!

"The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the _mirror_ beats both"


	16. Velvet Volition

RobinRocks: Confession? This time, we had a really good idea for the ANs! We know, it looks totally lame, but the truth is we wrote these ANs especially on IM so that they would be "interactive". These are the first we have done this way and it was funny… :)

**Narroch: We're back in action after a long hiatus! A justifiable one too. You all are lucky to be getting this latest chapter because I nearly died before it was finished.**

RR: Nyes. Near death. It was awful.

N: **Yes. And the worst part was... It was on my SPRING BREAK! (cries)**

RR: Terrible, I tell you. Terrible.

**N: PNEUMONIA IS THE DEVIL! Worse than Slade, really...**

RR: TERRIBLE! Wait… Is that even _possible_?

**N: Um...Well it came pretty darn close in my opinion. **

RR: I don't think you lying in bed for a week eating chocolate to console yourself for missing out on your JLU marathon is QUITE on the same level as, well, _this_.

**N: ...**

RR: …

**N: I had a freakin SEIZURE! In the freakin STEAK AND SHAKE! When I came around... they were like... you wanna free shake? And I said..."No, just breathing is fine, thanks. Can I get on the ambulance now?"**

RR: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand digressing. But it is true. She really did have pneumonia… Go figure…

**N: Didn't we already give Robin a seizure?**

RR: No. It's about the only thing we _haven't_ done to him…

**N: (rubs hands evilly) Well, now that I have first hand experience with it… And he _did_ get smacked in the head by a starbolt...**

RR: (Holds up "Please Help Me" sign)

**N: It's a wonder we get anything done... Anyways! Enough pointless banter! This chapter is something a little different from usual**

RR: Yes. It was her. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall her.

**N: -- I had nothing to do with it. I was too busy coughing up blood. **

RR: _Tchyeah_…

**N: So, anyways. This chapter is something of a digression. It goes back in time and then steadily jumps forward. **

RR: Uh-huh

**N: Just to confuse you.**

RR: To what you'd call the three turning points in Robin's development. The first: On the second night, preceding the events of _The Second Lesson_. Because we ALL remember _that_ chapter, _don't_ we?

**N: The second stage…:**

RR: Some random crap.

**N: Yes, Stockholm Syndrome is the correct term, my dear.**

RR: Yeah. That. It's really just about how the SS came about. And third:

**N: The emergence of the final stage where Robin become the cold hard bitch we all know he truly is.**

RR: Slade's biatch.

**N: We are so mean... We sold him off for reviews...**

RR: Yeah, but we keep on shaking the pom-poms!

**N: What does that even mean? O.o**

RR: That we're so uber cheerful about it! Like cheerleaders. I think it can be agreed that pretty much everyone is totally "Pro Slade, Go Slade!"…

**N: You perverts.**

RR: Indeed. And there's all this snazzy stuff in between about the nature of metamorphosis that Narroch wrote. It's all very cool and scary… Moreover, no complaints for its high reading level! Because some of the language _is_ complicated!

**N: College has an influence... Surprisingly. **

RR: Mwa ha… So yeah, there's all that. We also have this other really cool thing down bottom! See, we're gonna run a competition, since we are afraid to tell you all that this really _is_ the last-but-one chapter of _Small Print. _Yes, we've said it before, and obviously we weren't telling the truth – but _this_ is the truth.

You are looking at the last-but-one chapter of this fic.

Thankyou to all reviewers, and enjoy! This chapter seems confusing at first, but we think you'll like it…

We do.

Velvet Volition

In an extraordinary way, he had both succeeded and failed. He had succeeded in operating, but not in being. He had succeeded to an almost incredible extent in all the accommodations that will, tenacity, dependence, and the plasticity of the senses and psychology will permit. He has faced (and _faces_ still) an unprecedented situation, has battled against unimaginable horrors and difficulties, and has survived as a resourceful, impressive human being.

But still and forever he remains defective and defeated. Not all the spirit and ingenuity in the world, not all the substitutions or compensations the psyche system allows, can alter in the least his continuing and absolute loss of proprioception – that vital sixth sense without which a body must remain unreal, unpossessed.

He has lost ownership of _himself_.

And yet, what is more important for us, at an elemental level, than the control, the owning and operation, of our own physical selves? Something so automatic, so familiar, and for him, so easily _lost_ in the name of survival. His oppressor had managed to knock the idea of freewill, even over his own body, right out of him entirely.

And it all started with one exploit. In the beginning was the deed which launched him down this path of insanity and corruption. The first night. The first tragic stage to his ultimate survival and simultaneous destruction.

The beginning phase for his metamorphosis.

_III_

_Slade couldn't starve him._

_Really, he couldn't, Robin reasoned, trying to ignore his growling stomach, which was curled over itself into a fist of achy hunger. Slade had gone to an awful lot of trouble to ensnare the boy and force him into his reluctant apprenticeship; he wasn't going to starve him to death after all **that**._

_Maybe Slade had just forgotten about him. _

_He used his hunger to block out **other** things, the lower sphere of fleshly discomfort being enough to distract himself from the memories, if only for a moment. _

_The pain was too raw, too recent to possibly forget about. The images floated up, unbidden and unwanted, but undeniably true. _

_Last night, Slade had…_

_Robin squeezed his eyes tight shut, feeling the hot tears leaking through his lashes and sliding down his face._

_Last night, Slade had…_

_He bowed his head and his shoulders shook as he forced himself not to cry. He couldn't cry; he couldn't be broken._

_Then Slade would have **won**._

_He had to be strong._

_Last night, Slade had **raped** him on the floor of the main room of his lair, with only rusty clanking gears and a few bats and the hard cold ground as witnesses to the horrific act. Last night, Slade had thrown Robin to the floor, threatened him with the trigger, and unbuckled his belt and torn down his shorts and pants. Last night, Slade had turned Robin over onto his stomach and spread him and mercilessly **plunged** one finger up inside him. He had turned his finger into a hook, scraping at the boy's insides, and Robin had sobbed and screamed at the agony of it. There had been no pleasure thrown in there; just the horrible pain about it all, and his shock and fright and disgust and humiliation at what was happening to him._

_Last night, Slade had removed his finger and replaced it with his erection. Robin had gotten the feeling (through his agony) that Slade would have liked to have entered him faster, but the madman hadn't used anything to make his entrance easier – not even a little spit – and it had been difficult and uncomfortable for both of them._

_For some more than others._

_Robin had **screamed** the place down in pain. And not just once; he had shrieked and sobbed in agony as Slade had pushed little by little right into him. Slade had not pitied him in the slightest, although he knew why he screamed; he screamed because he **was** in unbearable pain. The boy was a virgin (or **had** been) and had never experienced sexual intercourse before, much less that of the anal variety, which was, of course, a great deal more painful than regular heterosexual intercourse. Slade could appreciate that, although the boy's squeals still irritated him immensely; it was not just the fact that Robin was screaming that annoyed him. The soft rasp in Robin's voice had always led him to realize that the boy's voice had not quite properly broken in yet; it was low and pleasant, but still recognizably boyish. Unfortunately, that meant that his screams were decidedly high-pitched when he really let himself go because of the pain he was in._

_Furthermore, Slade admitted that he didn't **want** to hear Robin screaming in pain particularly (unless he was hitting him); he wanted to hear him moan and gasp and groan._

_But he knew too that it would take time. The sex was painful (on more than one level) and Robin needed time to get used to it. There would come a time for moaning and gasping soon enough…_

_Besides, Robin had been deliciously tight and quivering; and Slade had known from the second he had entered him it wouldn't be the last time he would ever do so. The power and the pleasure had just felt too damn **good**._

_Deep down, somewhere inside him, Robin knew this too; that Slade wasn't finished with him._

_And so knew again that Slade would not leave him to **starve**._

_It was coming pretty damn close to it, though. Robin was so hungry he felt close to fainting, his stomach currently knotted up right next to his spine, empty and unused. Slade had given him a couple dry crackers that morning, throwing them at him and slamming the door when Robin cowered in the corner of his room and refused to come near him; he had turned up his nose at them, attempting to resist by refusing to eat. But Slade had simply thrown them at him and walked out, and Robin had eventually salvaged his "breakfast" and demolished the crackers greedily, having not eaten since the morning before. His thirst had been tormenting but Slade had returned around fifteen minutes later with a small bottle of water for him._

_The training had started that morning and gone on all day; Robin's mistakes had been many and he had been punished severely for anything and everything that displeased his new master._

_Which was most things._

_By the end of it he had been so weak with hunger and thirst he had been on the verge of collapsing. Slade had given him a drink and dragged him back to his room._

_He had been here ever since. He didn't **want** to eat anything Slade offered him; for all he knew, a simple cracker could be coated with poison or a sleeping drug or… an **aphrodisiac**…_

_He shuddered at that thought. He wanted to resist this subtle form of torture, but his body was screaming for food and he knew that he had to eat – if not **now**, at least **sometime** – or he would die._

_If he died, he couldn't obey Slade's every command. And if he didn't obey Slade's every command… _

_As though on cue, he heard the locks on the door being slid back and then it swung open. Slade entered and shut it again to stop Robin from bolting past him before he could catch him._

_Not that there was really anywhere **to** run._

_Robin shrank back into the corner as his master approached him slowly. His confidence had been drained away following the events of last night, as had his contempt and spark._

_They were quelled by fear and despair, both of which tornadoed through him in a spirit defeating binge on his mind._

_Slade stopped about halfway across the floor and cocked his head in amusement; in one hand was a glass of water, droplets shimmering on the sides from where it condensed from how cold it was – in his other hand was an apple, shining ruby in the dim light of the room._

_The sight alone provoked a shot of pain behind his jaws, and a deluge of saliva in his mouth while his stomach protested audibly. Embarrassed and irritated, he clutched at it and turned away to stare moodily at the wall._

_Slade laughed softly to himself and offered the apple and the glass out._

"_Well? Aren't you going to come and get your dinner?" His voice was lulling, amused and dangerous._

_Near tears – because of his hunger and his distress and despair and anger – Robin shook his head, not looking at him._

"_You'd rather starve?"_

_A nod._

_Slade couldn't help but be amused. Robin could really be quite devious when it suited him; he was hoping that if he was non-responsive, Slade would grow impatient and would just leave the water and the apple on the floor._

_And so Slade would not play into his hands._

"_Alright." He turned away went back to the door. "I'll just take them away then…"_

_He was expecting Robin to snap himself out of his defiant funk; to cry "No! Wait!"._

_Robin didn't._

_Slade reached the door and turned back to see the boy leaning against the far wall, shaking with hunger-induced weakness. His forehead and one forearm were pressed against the metal wall and his breathing was shallow. His knees were beginning to buckle as he lost the ability to stand up straight, and after a moment of shakily fighting against gravity he slid to his knees, his whole body like a limp rag._

_Robin refusing to eat was amusing. Robin **dying** from refusing to eat was not at **all** amusing._

_Slade wasn't sure if Robin intended to kill himself by starvation and dehydration or not, but he wasn't going to stand for this. Robin was going to eat and drink even if Slade had to **force** it down his throat._

_He crossed the floor again and knelt, roughly grasping the boy under his ribcage and hauling his back against **his** knees. Robin struggled feebly but the lack of food, and particularly liquid, was really beginning to get to him and he couldn't even squirm from his master's grip. Slade brought the glass of water to his mouth and although Robin was desperate to drink it all down – and his mind screamed in torment as the icy water wet his lips – he still turned his head away in defiance._

_Furious, Slade pressured his jaw to force him to open his mouth, and then tilted the glass. Once Robin actually tasted the water, that pure delicious crystalline nectar of life, he couldn't stop and drank greedily from the glass as Slade held it for him._

"_There's my good boy…" Slade murmured mirthfully._

_Angered and distressed by the soft utterance of that – an echo from **last night** – Robin spat the last mouthful of water back at his master; the water splattered down Slade's chest, a wet star on metal and leather._

_Slade's single grey eye widened ever so slightly; surprised that Robin would **dare** to…_

_Robin gazed up at him, his eyes narrowed; waiting for the punishment he knew was going to come next. He had regretted spitting the water back at Slade **before** he had done it._

_As it happened, he had already braced himself for whatever Slade was going to do to punish him for such an open act of defiance. _

_Slade didn't do anything. He merely shrugged and put the glass down slowly. He held up the apple, watching how Robin's mouth opened ever so slightly in either a tiny gasp or in anticipation of biting into it._

"_Do you want your apple?"_

_Weakly – and treading further down the dangerous path of disobedience – Robin turned his face away again, scowling._

_Slade shrugged._

"_You will have to eat sometime, Robin." He placed it on the floor just in front of him. "Well, I'll leave it here for you…"_

_He picked up the glass and stood, turning away._

_Watching._

_Although he didn't move, Robin seemed to safely assume that Slade was no longer watching him. Eventually he tentatively reached for the apple—_

_Slade whipped around and **stamped** as hard as he could on it, crushing it to a juicy pulp on the metal floor. Robin sharply withdrew his hand, his eyes wide with horror and despair as he watched Slade lift his foot and stared at the unsalvageable remains of his "dinner"._

_Slade crouched down to Robin's level – the boy was still slumped on his knees – and regarded him mirthfully, his icy grey eye glittering cruelly._

"_Are you hungry, Robin?"_

_After a moment's hesitation, Robin nodded truthfully, quivering. What did he have to lose by telling the truth? Maybe Slade would take pity on him and give him something else. Maybe some more crackers or… something…_

_He realized that it was unlikely, but, as he had reasoned before, Slade couldn't **starve** him. Not if he wanted him to **live**—_

_Slade backhanded him, knocking him to the floor with the force of the blow. Robin emitted a small sharp yelp of pain and collapsed, lying there for a second or two longer than he would have normally; when he finally raised his head Slade saw that both his nose and his bottom lip were bleeding._

_He smiled behind his mask._

"_Next time," he hissed, "I suggest you learn your lesson…"_

_He straightened up and walked out, locking the door up tight behind him again._

_And Robin was left on his knees, weak with hunger and despair and hopelessness; unaware that Slade was already concocting another punishment._

_One **far** worse than a nosebleed._

_One of those things that had been in the **small print** all along._

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Change is everywhere in everything.

The galaxies move through space. The stars ignite, burn, age, cool, and revert back to the original elements.

Element bonding with element to create something totally new.

The gradual erosion and resedimentation of earth.

The hidden dormant seed that buds and then flowers.

Seed to tree, tree to forest.

Rain to river, river to sea.

Grubs to bees, bees to swarm.

From one many, from many one;

Forever uniting, growing, dissolving – forever _changing_.

All matter goes through some kind of metamorphosis.

Adaptations that an intelligent species may make in a single generation, other species make over many generations of selective breeding and selective dying.

Disrupting this natural flow has a high cost. If it is misdirected by accident or by intent, it can foster its own orgies of unnecessary breeding and dying and create something totally unexpected. A mutation from the original cast. A shift in natural energies to something depraved and needy.

The mutation in _Robin_ instigated somewhere between the natural transitions between the three stages, these phases a normal recurring motet in the symphony of evolution.

Child. Adolescent. Adult.

Caterpillar to pupae to butterfly.

In a literal sense, Robin was in his second stage. Adolescent.

**Teen** Titan. Yes, of course.

In stages of development, he was in the first. "Caterpillar". Vulnerable to things that could destroy him; still learning that he was trapped, victim to predators – and **one** predator in particular…

Slade did not know how long Robin was going to fight; how long his defiance could possibly last.

He expected that, at some point, the boy would learn that he was here to stay; as simple as that. It would either be his forced evolution, or his extinction. And that **when** he learned that, he would become obedient. He couldn't possibly survive under the conditions in which Slade placed him with his continued rebellion. The tense and voluntarily defiant attitude would become an impossible fever and torment. The machinery would refuse to run at all when the bearings were made so hot, and the belts so tight.

Slade was waiting for the surrender. When Robin gave up the feelings of responsibility to his past, letting go the firm hold on his morals, resigning the care of his destiny to another power, and be genuinely _indifferent_ as to what became of it all. The self despair and dying in order to be reborn. The passage into nothing.

Change.

And to mutate to this pure state of apathy, a critical point had to be passed, a corner turned, and the native hardness within Robin had to break down and liquefy and be reformed into a new reality.

He would blossom into the imago Slade wanted. The butterfly at the end of it all.

What Slade did **not** expect was a cocoon. That middle stage of apparent dormancy when he shut himself away from the horrors of his world and compensated with an overzealous, addiction driven fantasy of submission.

What he did **not** expect… was Stockholm Syndrome.

_II_

_It had happened suddenly._

_Slade could not recall quite how it occurred, nor pinpoint that exact moment, nor even the exact **day**, when it had happened. A first step, a first movement, a first perception, a first impulse – totally, 'out of the blue', where there was nothing but seething resentment before, grew this unnerving impulse which was both more obvious and more mysterious than Robin's original hatred. _

_It simply seemed as though… one moment Robin was screaming abuse at him, and the next…_

…_he **wasn't**._

_It was hard to believe it, in retrospect; and yet it was true. The boy had been utterly hateful for at least the first three weeks, maybe even a month. He had progressed from simple, Robin-like "heroic" threats such as "You'll never get away with this!" to real abuse; language that was truly horrendous, disgusting and simply **odd** coming from the Boy Wonder. His imagination would take over his mouth, conjuring all sorts of horrific revenges which he would have taken upon the villain, were he given half the chance. They got worse and worse the longer Robin was there – a signal of his gradually mounting torment and desperation. He violently lashed out at Slade during combat practice; struggled and fought and cried when Slade forced himself onto him at night. And when Slade got his way with him, Robin's revenge was biting and scratching every bit of skin he could get at. Slade punished him physically for it, but even **he** could see by now that Robin was beginning to lose grip on his sanity, and in the end opted to simply unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly during sex to stop his apprentice from drawing too much blood._

_Those first few weeks, it had been like trying to have sex with a **cat**. A hissing, vicious cat, not at all interested in having any part at all in the practice, but physically too small and weak to get away from the inflictor._

_In the end, the one and only way that Slade could keep him under control was with the trigger._

_The one threat that worked each and every time._

_The wild card to end it all._

_The boy always calmed down and sullenly surrendered after seeing that flash of metal; it cruelly defeated him in the most exploitative way. Worming into the soft spot in his heart, threatening and choking the piece of himself that was supposed to be sacred and unshakable: his love and devotion to his friends. **That** was ultimately why he was **here**, after all._

_He retreated inside himself to the ragged edge of his consciousness, sobbing silently and cursing his master's name less silently. His iron will set to rust. _

_Even after that hazy night when Robin had **enjoyed** the sex; the night he had attempted to steal the trigger, and been **punished** for it…_

_Slade partly admired the strength in him; his determination. But all the fighting was tiresome, and he smacked the boy around all the more viciously to show him how bored he was by it all._

_Robin's mental system was being undermined, weakened by the constant onslaught, the interstitial alterations, and yet for a time it was kept upright by dead habit. And then, suddenly, there had been a new perception in Robin, a sudden emotional shock, an occasion which laid bare the organic modification, making the entire fabric fall together. The center of gravity sank into a slightly more stable attitude. The psychological rearrangement locked in place, re-crystallizing everything around it, and the new structure remained permanent once the dust settled. He gave up the losing battle, and gave up the hereditary habit of relying on his personal strength and wit, with its precautions that never sheltered, and its safeguards that never saved. He built a cocoon around himself – to protect himself from what was happening to him._

_The second phase._

_And that second phase – that **cocoon** – was Stockholm Syndrome._

_His true psyche burrowed deep inside him, near going dormant, and hiding away from the reality of what was happening to his body and his mind. The contrast between good and ill was swallowed up in a higher denomination, an omnipotent excitement that engulfed the evil and which Robin happily welcomed. _

_For happiness, like any other emotion, has its blind spots and insensibility to opposing facts. Operating in self protection, when he was happy, for whatever cause, evil simply could not then and there be believed in. It diverted his attention from the slaughterhouse he lived in, and distracted him from the indecencies inflicted upon him without end. _

_And this new Robin, who attached himself to Slade, grew to like everything that happened. The beatings he brushed off, the injuries he ignored, and the **sex**… _

_The sex he savored._

_This new version of Robin realized, through the insanity of it all, that without some sort of anchor he would be completely lost. After living in hell day after day, being beaten down a little more each time, the awful truth became clear; that he would **never **escape this bondage, and he would **forever **be Slade's slave. That reality terrified Robin; being eternally adrift in the sea of atrocities which was his current life without any hope of ever being rescued. So he found an anchor in Slade and clung to it. The horror of it all did not go away – the single eye that beheld truth, the gray blurred line between the black and white, the teeth that breathed…_

_None of it went away, but he found it easier to ignore, easier to deal with, when he embraced Slade and the very **darkness** of him._

_Because that darkness drew around Robin too then; and enshrouded him, blinding him so that he could not see the things he was afraid of._

_The fears that Slade himself had created._

_Slade was not particularly enamored with this version of Robin. He was clingy, feminine and… un-Robin-y… _

_He squeaked and squealed in pleasure; mewled and moaned in desire; gasped and groaned in ecstasy._

_He had lost all of the control and discipline that had made him Robin. The strength of the martial artist. The seriousness of the Teen Titans' leader. The cemented morals of the Hero. _

_But at least Slade was not getting a mouthful of abuse every time he came within ten feet of him._

_Instead he was lying here on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling._

_Robin was curled up next to him, partly under one of Slade's arms, with his head resting on his broad chest._

_Robin, a past insomniac, was fast asleep._

_Slade, a full-time insomniac, was wide awake._

_It had been a night like every other._

_Late-night training, followed by near-brutal foreplay, followed by sex._

_It was repetitive; and yet Slade did not think he would tire of it anytime soon._

_The room was strewn with leather and metal; and the stench of sex was oppressive – not altogether unpleasant, but it was a stale scent, an overbearing perfume that betrayed them. Blood mixed with sweat mixed with semen. Sweet and bitter altogether, all at once._

_Slade held his mask above his head and looked up at it._

_For it was **this** that made him the bogeyman. The figment of terror – the man that was not truly a **man**._

_**This** was what Robin was afraid of._

_And **this** was what it had come to, he supposed._

_He could **never** have supposed that Robin would simply come to him and be obedient, no matter the threat. He could never have supposed that Robin would succumb to him, learn and respect his way by the mere threat of a single metal trigger._

_So it had come to this. Abuse. Sex. **Destruction**._

_They had stepped beyond the prescribed roles of master and apprentice now; and there was no going back._

_They were in the Realm of Gray._

_Beyond black. Beyond white._

_Even **Robin** was gray now. Ruined, devalued and **different**, above all._

_That much was obvious when Slade looked down at him; content and sound asleep, using his torso as a pillow._

_Naked, with an "S" chiseled into his once-perfect chest._

_This wasn't Robin._

_But then again, it wasn't… **not** Robin either._

_The two versions lived in worlds which were mirror images of each other, and the saddest difference between them was that the freshly captured Robin fought to regain his lost faculties with the indomitable tenacity of the damned, whereas the Stockholm Syndrome infected Robin was not fighting, did not know what was lost, and did not indeed know that anything **was** lost. _

_But who was more tragic, or who was more damned? The boy who knew it, or the boy who did not? _

_Robin. His apprentice. An apprentice by his own **volition**._

_That was the difference._

_That was the cocoon._

_**That** was the one thing that had painted the world gray._

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The gyre continues to turn.

The cocoon trembles, cracks, and shrivels away.

Change is inevitable.

The freshly hatched butterfly opens its soft jagged wings, and the blood red pattern crosshatched with dark fluid veins looks like a bleeding, dripping smile of Death; a derangement of the deepest dye.

The wings slowly open and close and open and close, keeping time to a silent song. The poison pumping quickly through its newborn wings, the butterfly speeds the flapping to the effect of some great unheard orchestra when all the separate notes have melted into one swelling harmony that leaves the listener conscious of nothing save that his soul is being wafted upwards, just as the butterfly which is waiting to alight at the right moment, waiting for the right command from its master. The right type of motivation to begin its flight.

The beginning of the hurricane season.

_I_

_The robots were becoming commonplace. Repetitive. Predictable._

_Robin arched into a backflip as one swung at him, landing gracefully to come upright and then swing his whole body around into the form of a roundhouse kick, decapitating it._

_It was a maneuver he had practiced a thousand times before; with Batman, with the Titans, with Slade…_

_He could do it with his eyes shut._

_He was on auto-pilot, pure muscle memory, as he leapt into a high spinning dragonfly kick that took care of the final two; landing softly, he straightened up and looked around at the pile of thirty-odd mangled, sparking robots that Slade had set upon him._

_From them, there was not a bruise nor a scratch on him._

_**Those** came from someone **else**._

_Strong arms encircled his waist, drawing tightly around him and pressing him against that broad, solid, metal-covered chest._

_Robin arched back against him as he stepped wholly from the shadows._

"_You beat your highest score by 2.07 seconds that time," Slade purred silkily, actually sounding…_

…_**proud**._

_He squeezed the boy around his middle, feeling him squirm in both discomfort and pleasure._

"_Yes, I think you are ready," he went on softly, speaking almost to himself now. He turned his apprentice to face him, cupping his chin and forcing his head upwards. "I have something… **special** for you, Robin…"_

"_Mm." The boy made a little purring noise, rubbing his cheek against his master's gloved hand._

_Clearly he assumed it was going to be something pleasant…_

"_I can see that these older robots are beginning to… bore you," Slade said in a low voice, taking his hand from Robin's face to gesture around him lazily. "Yes, you are far too skilled to be playing with such… **toys**. Therefore I have taken the liberty of having a further battle simulation tailored more to your… needs, as it were. It is far more complex than this, but I believe you are ready for it. I do very much anticipate watching you handle it…"_

_Robin gave a little nod._

"_Yes, master…"_

"_Good." _

_Slade's arms drew right away from him as more robots came in to clear away the metal carcasses of the first defeated batch._

_The result was that the floor was completely cleared; of broken robots, new ones, and Slade himself._

_Robin was alone in the blank gray practice arena, as he had been many times before._

_He heard the soft, barely-audible creak of gears; whipping out his staff, he twirled it fiercely before sliding into a tense battle stance, the weapon tightly in his grip._

_The lights went out, except for one single spotlight that shone down on him; center-stage. The star of the show._

_Four shadowed creatures slunk into dim view, beyond the circle of light all around him._

_He turned slowly – 360 degrees, his pace slow and purposeful; his narrowed gaze fixed upon the four shadowed shapes._

_The first of them made a sudden move – the smallest, he noted – and sprang from the shadows at him; he barely looked at his attacker as he swung the staff out, attacking and blocking simultaneously. The hard edge of the pole clipped it on the side of its head, the impact magnified by the fulcrum Robin created. He felt the twist and pop of metal and circuits against his forearm and the thing crumpled, landing a few feet behind him._

_Robin turned sharply towards it, ignoring the other three shapes for a moment._

_He wanted a closer look at what he was up against—_

_He gasped and stopped dead less than two feet from it._

_Because finally he was able to see what it **was**._

_The robot version of Beast Boy – a perfect mirror image of his former team-mate – was sprawled on its back, its head twisted to the side and back as though broken; the green eyes wide, glassy and staring._

_Robin's stomach gave a sudden heave as he stepped quickly backwards, almost stumbling. His fighter's precision was gone, as was his drive and determination, overwhelmed by the floor-dissolving horror._

_He stepped backwards into something, smacking his head; he twisted his head upwards with wild frantic eyes and saw a robot (fully robotic) version of Cyborg staring down at him emotionlessly._

_There was no kindness in his eyes. No anger. No sorrow. No pain. No fear. Nothing; emotionless._

_Because he was not real. Another one of Slade's cruel devices created to further break him down and pry him out. A false image, a black mirror made to reflect everything that Robin couldn't confront. _

_Even so, Robin gave another hiccoughing gasp and lurched away, his eyes wide and frightened yet still unable to fully process the horrifying reality of the situation. As if he just pretended this was another one of his black nightmares, then they would disappear, dissolve at the peak of terror and leave him alone like they always did. _

_Alone in the darkness, stuck in an abyss in his own head that he couldn't climb out of. But this was real, happening right before him, and the stark uncompromising forms of his "friends" were still moving towards him. _

_From behind Cyborg broad outline emerged robots of Starfire and Raven; and they too were perfect in every detail but for the soullessness of their eyes._

_At his back came the screeching whine of twisted machinery trying to work even so, and the audible sparking of circuits. The hair at the nape of his neck rose and Robin dared to look over his shoulder; only to see the Beast Boy robot getting up, its head lolling to one side at an absolutely grotesque angle, the circuits there, visible where the metal had torn, sparking and smoking as the smell of ozone permeated the air._

"_No…" Robin looked around at them all, cold and sick with fear and horror and bewilderment. His stomach clenched and heaved again more violently._

_He knew they were robots – the Beast Boy one was proof enough of this fact – but to him… they looked like his friends. They looked like his friends, and he couldn't fight them. He couldn't even fight the memory of them._

_It was clear that that was what Slade **wanted** him to do – he wanted him to **destroy** them._

_But Robin couldn't. The staff slipped from his numb fingers and clattered on the floor. He simply **couldn't**._

_The eyes of the Raven and Starfire robots began to glow – that familiar white shine, that unforgettable fiery green._

_He heard the charge building in the air – the tiny high-pitched whine of it – and knew what was coming…_

_He threw himself to the ground as the high-powered lasers shot from the eyes of the two "female" robots. It was true that, in reality, Raven could not shoot beams from her eyes as Starfire did, but Slade could not possibly create a robot that could levitate things, and so had simply replicated the technology for both of the female Titans' robotic counterparts._

_They **all** came to life then._

_The Cyborg robot raised its arm and the blue glow told Robin immediately that if he didn't move, he was going to have a hole blown through his head courtesy of a proton cannon replica._

_He rolled aside as the beam trained the ground where he been moments before, scrambling to his feet as a few lethal bubbles of green energy – resembling starbolts very effectively – followed his movement._

_The Beast Boy robot was slowly making its way over towards him too, but he had obviously hit an optimum circuit initially, because its movement was jerky and tardy, almost zombie-like with its lolling uneven gait and dead eyes. _

"_Please… stop…" Robin begged, his voice small and scratchy, competing with the lump in his throat. He backed up from them as they formed into a rough line and began to move towards him – slow, unnatural, but ever closer. "I don't… this is… for **you**!"_

_They didn't respond, of course. Being robots and everything._

_Only advanced nearer, implacable and relentless._

_He started to panic; his breaths became shorter, harder to draw in – and then, with that lack of air, his lips started to go blue and numb as mild hyperventilation began to kick in._

_He was afraid of them; but not because they were attempting to kill him._

_It was simply because it was **them**._

_Or replicas of, anyway._

_Slade's voice suddenly came through the comm. piece nestled snugly in his ear. It, as always, oozed like liquid silk down through his ear and seeped into his brain, mesmerizing him; like the charmer to the snake._

"_Unless you wished to be destroyed, Robin, I suggest that you **fight**."_

"_I can't…" Robin was breathless; trembling and pressing himself against the wall as the four robotic Titan clones gained more ground on him. "I **can't**…"_

"_You **will**, unless you wish to **die**!"_

_It was the squeal of electronic feedback forcing its way down his sensitive ear canal that compulsed him to his feet, not Slade's order; he staggered upright, lurching forwards a little way as bile forced its way up his throat. He managed to keep it down, despite tasting the sourness of it – fitting, somehow, to accompany the fear he felt when he looked across at them._

_They had stopped not six feet from him; the "girls'" eyes glowing once again, "Cyborg's" proton cannon accompanying the threatening luminous gazes—_

_He threw himself backwards and slid down the wall as the three energy beams – blue, white, green – hit the place where his head had been a few mere moments before._

_He curled up there, pressing himself down as small as he could as he peered up at them with trembling, tearing eyes; gripping hysterically at his head and face – speechless, motionless, defenseless._

_Something in him had broken and couldn't fix itself; not here, not like this—_

_Nononononononono**no**…_

_For a third time the lasers began to glow, tilting downwards to aim straight at him._

_This time he had nowhere to run._

"_**I did it for you!**" He screamed at them in despair, tears breaking through and sluicing down his pale, bruised face in disfigured torrents._

_They had no answer for him. Being robots and everything._

_In a cold gray circular world, the boy who had been Robin closed his eyes and waited to die._

"_And **I** did this for **you**."_

_Slade._

_Robin kept his eyes tightly closed for a further few seconds; but then he noticed (and it had taken him far too long to do so) that the whine of building laser beams had died._

_He opened them._

_The robots of his friends were stood exactly how they had been, except for their stillness._

_Slade had shut them down._

_Now it was **he** who stood over Robin; and suddenly Robin had much **more** of a cause to be afraid._

"_Get up."_

_Slade's voice was soft; alluring; almost…_

…_pitying._

_When Robin only quivered, starting to sob – and did not respond to the command, Slade's voice sharpened;_

"_**Up**, boy!"_

_Robin offered a pathetic squeak in reply, trying to unfold his legs from beneath him. He wasn't quick enough for Slade's liking and was wrenched up by his hair when he took too long to even sit up._

"_When I give you an order…" Slade didn't finish that sentence, letting it hang unfinished in the air – somehow it sounded even more dangerous that way._

"_I… I can't…" Robin didn't finish his sentence either; but it was because he **couldn't**._

"_We agreed, did we not, that your apprenticeship would require you to do things that you might not find particularly to your liking?" Slade hissed. "Did I not inform you of that?"_

"_Y-yeah…"_

"_Sooner or later… you **will** face the Titans, Robin. The **real** Titans. And I will not be able to shut them down."_

"_I can't." Robin started to shake, gripping at Slade's arm. "**I****can't**…"_

"_You have to." Slade's voice utterly devoid of any kind of emotion. "It is the only way you will truly be mine."_

"_I… I don't want…" Robin moaned it, clutching at his forehead as though suffering from a sudden splitting migraine. "I don't **want**… to be **yours**…"_

_Slade's fingers flexed ever so slightly; but Robin did not see it._

"_Is that so indeed?" The villain drawled._

_Out came the trigger. Robin backed off a little, his eyes wide._

_Slade could see it. The cocoon around the boy was beginning to crack as he grew stronger – as he became more used to the abuse and torment._

_He saw a glance of the butterfly's new wings when Robin's face suddenly twisted into an expression Slade had never seen on him before – a sort of detached fury that instantly sharpened his bleary-eyed attention, as though they were rimmed with charcoal. When he made a sudden, barely-perceptible lunge for the trigger – so fast and silent that Slade barely had time to react._

_Robin's fingers actually scraped the trigger before Slade sharply elbowed him in the face, knocking him to the floor. The boy collapsed heavily, dragging himself up on his hands and knees, the blood streaming from his nose and mouth and dripping to the concrete floor of the arena._

"_Robin." Slade stepped nearer, surprised and impressed. "That was vicious, dishonorable, and ruthless." He paused, mulling over his choice of words… "Excellent work. You're becoming more like me every second."_

_Robin gazed up at him; and that startling defined look was still on his face. A look of unreachable anger – a glimpse of what was simmering beneath the surface of that cocoon. What the **true** Robin was becoming beneath the Stockholm Syndrome._

_Slade had never seen anger like this in Robin before. Robin's anger, displayed back when he was a Titan, and fighting Slade in any and every of their various scuffles, had been virtuous. Anger that had spawned from the irritation that Slade was a villain, and that Robin's job was to stop him. He had been **trained** to stop the likes of Slade; and therefore that anger had been trained into him too._

_It was partly that. It was also partly because he was irritable, never really getting enough sleep – as a general rule, boys Robin's age were supposed to sleep until noon. _

_Robin had barely slept four hours every night while he was a Teen Titan._

_So it was that; and that; and it was also fairly common knowledge that adolescence was a stressful and frustrating period. Coping with raging hormones, different wants and needs, and trying to figure out just who he even **was**…_

_**That** had been the anger in Robin before._

_**That** was the anger that wasn't there now._

_This anger was fresh, new. Different. Cold. Released, perhaps, from some Pandora's Box deep inside him. As though he had reached the lowest of the low, couldn't fall any further, and had lost all hope. As a result he became relaxed, focused and insouciant. He had nothing left to lose. To cope with Slade seemed remotely possible, especially after his Stockholm Syndrome-instigated paradigm shift; but he was so obviously outmatched and easily affected by the mind games concerning his friends that it wasn't even worth worrying about. _

_With them around, his life was over. Having settled that, why not do something about that annoying scrap of metal? _

_And with his mind suddenly swept clean by the hopelessness of the situation, he was able to focus, move faster, strike harder – because in the end it didn't **matter**. _

_Whatever it was, Slade knew to tread carefully with it. It was obvious to the man that Robin was not sane anymore; not rational, not what he **had** been. _

_He thought over his last statement, the words still lingering in the air, like smoke from some rich cigar._

_("You're becoming more like me every second".)_

_People called Slade a madman. Robin himself had once called him a psychopath._

_But Slade wasn't mad. Not truly, not clinically._

_He looked down at Robin; panting hard, bleeding from his left nostril and bottom lip._

_No, **Slade** was not the **madman** here at all…_

"_I am not like you…" _

_The words escaped on the ex-Boy Wonder's panting breath—_

_Robin suddenly lurched to his feet, his face colorless but for the bright blotch of blood; another lunge had the intention of the trigger, but it soured quickly – Slade grasped his arm and simply followed through the movement, tossing Robin easily to the ground again._

_Irritated when Robin once again got to his feet, the robots did the same at Slade's command._

_Robin, focused only on Slade in a tirade that mirrored and yet surpassed his days as simply Slade's arch-enemy, ignored them._

_The robots, with a built-in heat-seeking mechanism, did far from ignore **him** – or **Slade**, for that matter. Bonelessly they got to their feet, Beast Boy giving off a shower of sparks with every movement. _

_A simulated starbolt shot over Robin's head, alerting him to the fact the robot Titans were not going to simply stand there while he fought Slade. He turned his head – and then ducked backwards just in time to avoid being pasted by robot Cyborg's fist._

_He downed Cyborg-bot with a swift hard kick to the chest, knocking him to the ground._

_He turned—_

_And Starfire-bot grabbed him around the throat and lifted him high from the floor._

_The robots, however, were drawn to Slade as well as long as he was in the vicinity; and he found himself squaring off against Raven-bot and the malfunctioning Beast Boy-bot. He easily dispatched the latter due to the "injury" Robin had already inflicted upon it. The beam from Raven-bot's eyes was easy enough to avoid, but upon turning to finish her off—_

_He misjudged the "robot girl's" location and received a kick in the chest that sent him staggering backwards. The electronic remote that controlled the robots flew from his hand, landing a fair way away._

_Robin saw that kick and something in him **snapped**._

_He might have felt like killing Slade himself; but he hated to see anyone **else** lay a hand on him._

_Anyone at all._

_Perhaps it was not his twisted love for Slade that caused this particular feeling – it was possibly simply left over from his days of working tirelessly to stop him, when he had felt that no-one **could** stop him except for he, Robin, himself. It would have been like discovering that the pyramid was not a five thousand year wonder of the civilized world, mysteriously and permanently constructed as an unconquerable structure full of treasures and secrets and traps, but that it had been made of cheap paper mache in the back room of some anonymous store as a window dressing, guaranteed to last a mere lifetime. It was a terrible loss of a dream, even if it had started out as a nightmare. _

_Whatever it was, it resulted in a frenzied snap-kick that decapitated Starfire-bot. Her metal fingers loosened their grip on his throat as her neck gave off a fountain of brilliant gold sparks; he twisted away, displacing the eight tiny metal bones (dowels) in her wrist when it didn't release him fast enough. "She" collapsed on the floor, sparking and twitching and grinding her gears in the final death throes._

_Here came Cyborg-bot for another round; Robin leapt forwards to take his weight on his hands, picking up his discarded staff within the movement and gripping it tightly as he completed the flip and landed back on his feet._

_Watching intently, Slade slunk away into the shadows that were his true home…_

_Cyborg-bot swiped at Robin's head; missing by a mile as Robin dropped beneath it, and then lunged upwards behind the blow itself—_

_The end of his staff erupted from the back of Cyborg's head. Robin had thrust it straight into the robot's open mouth, and had it been a real person he would have impaled the medulla, resulting in instant death. A shower of blue sparks instead of blood spray signaled the demise of Cyborg's fully-robotic counterpart, but Robin did not see it, having already turned to Raven-bot. _

_With deadly accurate aim he threw a small device – circular, with two sharp arms sticking out from it on either side – as though throwing a punch. Lightning fast jab finished by snapping his wrist sent the bomb flying and it deeply embedded itself in Raven-bot's chest. _

_A dull explosion, accompanied by smoke and a cascade of metal and circuits, had the remaining half of Raven-bot's torso clank onto the floor in defeat. _

_Robin walked over and calmly and methodically kicked Beast Boy-bot's head completely off, stopping its sad attempt to crawl over and fight despite its already debilitating damage. _

_Slade slithered back out of the shadows and towards him. As he did so, he reached silently down and grasped Starfire-bot's head by the plastic synthetic hair._

_Robin slowly rose, panting hard; cold sweat beaded on his face as the staff once again clattered from his fingers. He felt physically sick, shivering uncontrollably. The alien anger and power surge left him as quickly as it came, leaving him instead with the sudden overwhelming and terrifying ache of responsibility. He had done this; not Slade, not that trigger, **he** alone. Himself… _

"_Robin." Slade stopped just behind him, holding the sparking head aloft as a prize. Her face didn't show any pain, of course, for she was not real – it was as blank as it had been when still attached to her. "I must say that was really rather excellent…"_

_He touched the boy's shoulder and the boy whipped around to face him, his masked eyes wild._

"_I didn't…" He gasped out._

"…_Mean to?" Slade finished lazily. "Well, for an accident, I think it was rather successful, don't you?"_

_He held out Starfire-bot's head, swinging slightly by her red plastic hair._

_Robin blanched at the sight of it; retched, then turned away and fell to his hands and knees, vomiting violently onto the concrete. _

_Slade sighed inwardly and unceremoniously tossed Starfire-bot's sparking head aside._

"_I didn't… I d-didn't… m-mean…" Robin was whispering to himself, vomit dripping from his nose, saliva trickling from his slack mouth, his eyes wide and unfocused; he was still on his knees, though he was upright again._

"_Robin." Slade said it more firmly as he reached down, grasping the boy's shoulder—_

"_**NO**!" Robin screamed, wrenching himself away so suddenly that Slade couldn't keep a grip on him._

_He scrambled to his feet, stumbling blindly away. Slade didn't pursue him, watching him come to a halt several feet away._

_He straightened up, wiping his mouth; and he took a few deep, heaving gasps of air._

_And then, to Slade's immense surprise, he actually turned to him._

_He closed his eyes against the destruction he had wrought; squeezing them tight. He bit his lip and from his one visible eye a small stream of tears leaked from beneath the mask and slid down his face._

_He was teetering right on the **edge** of the abyss._

_Slade went to him. Put his arms around his slight form and crushed him to his chest._

_It was not a hug of comfort._

_It was an embrace of darkness._

_Dragging him down into the abyss where he belonged._

_(Come to me, Robin. Submit to me. Embrace the darkness in you. You know it can be no other way…)_

_With one hand he firmly wiped the tears from his apprentice's face._

_Robin did not utter another sob; not another word._

_Against Slade's chest, he gazed out – his eyes burning – over the arena. Over the "bodies" of his "friends"._

_Slade felt the boy's entire body stiffen in his grip and held him tighter._

_It was not comfort. It was ownership._

_Even so…_

_He looked down at Robin – newly emerged from his cocoon; something different, something **dangerous**…_

_He looked down at the new lethal little butterfly in his hands; and wondered (secretly, silently) what he had done. _

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cardiograph lied.

Slumped in a chair outside Robin's hospital room, Starfire – in a row alongside Beast Boy, Raven and Cyborg – sobbed silent tears of both relief and sorrow.

It had been explained to her that Robin's condition was stable.

That he was not dying; nor was he going to die.

He was simply tired; slightly delirious from the blood loss.

There were a million things wrong with him – but he was not _dying_.

The flat-line had been produced by _her_; by her iron-grip upon the rail of his hospital cot.

The cardiograph cable, she now understood, ran along that same rail.

She had crushed it beyond repair – and interrupted its signal to the cardiograph itself.

Her scream had brought doctors and nurses alike running.

But there was nothing to be found.

The boy was asleep.

And still he slept now.

Starfire had been put outside to allow him to rest.

She looked across at her team-mates.

Raven was doing a crossword in one of the magazines; her pale hand trembling a little. Her lips silently formed the words "Azarath Metrion Zinthos" over and over again.

Cyborg was reading some ancient dog-eared copy of "What Car?", forcing down a Twix bar – which he didn't look like he was particularly enjoying.

Beast Boy was asleep, sprawled across three chairs.

Each of them sported their own bandages and sticking plasters and ice-packs.

Starfire could not read or eat or sleep. Instead she sighed sadly and studied the linoleum.

And suddenly a shadow swept over them all. They each looked up (apart from Beast Boy, exhausted and oblivious to reality) and found _him_ there.

The savior; the destroyer of the destroyer.

The _true_ god of godless gods.

The _Truth_ itself.

Yes. It had been _him_ all along.

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

_So_…!

That's that. That's why he is the way he is.

**And now you all can give a big sigh of relief that we haven't killed him off. The heart ticker trick was my idea. Har har. XD**

The very scary truth is that the first segment (the night before the scene from _The Second Lesson_) was written in JUNE, last year, 2006. _June_. It has been kicking around _that_ long, seriously…

Okay. So. Next chapter is the last chapter.

And, well, we thought we'd commemorate by running a competition.

**And the best part is… This competition actually has a prize!**

It shall now be revealed; the last chapter of _Small Print_ is entitled _Endgame_. It is pretty much written. Not entirely – it still needs some construction, etc.

**(AKA, I still need to edit and write my bits into it.)**

Well, here's our competition: It's occurred to us, through your varying responses in reviews, that _Small Print_ kind of "means" different things to different people. That is, people kind of interpret it in different ways. Some people are here for the slash, some people are here for the psychological study, some people are Robin-haters and like to see him get kicked around… O.o

And, well, we thought it would be cool if you maybe shared with us and everyone your personal "interpretation" of it. Like, quite honestly… what _do_ you think _Small Print_ is really about? Because it started out as just a regular slashy one-shot that expanded and then Narroch came on board and kicked it up the ass and now… O.o

Well, what _is_ it anymore?

So we thought… Hey, why don't we give people the opportunity to really TELL us! So here's the premise of our competition – you guys write your own "summary" of _Small Print_ in like between 15 and 30 words. Because we are really curious as to how you would guys would write the summary if it is was your fic.

The prize? You get _Endgame_. You get _Endgame_ before _anyone_ else, as an email attachment.

But yeah, we don't want any biases or anything, so we were thinking… If you want to enter our oh-so-fun competition, if you could write your summary type thingie on a separate ANONYMOUS review. Don't write your name, your pen-name, anything. Just your email address so we can send the prize to the winner. We don't wanna know who wrote them because that might make it unfair.

Sound fun? It's totally free for you AND there IS a real prize, so…

**Participate! It'll be fun! And the last chapter as a prize is totally worth it. (I've read it, it's really good)**

Yay!

Fun fun fun!

**Leave us a review! I battled through teh evil pneumonia to deliver this to ya'll! Throw me a freakin bone! **

Oh, and we hope you enjoyed this chapter!

RobinRocks and Narroch xXx


	17. Endgame

Well, it's been almost two years – one year and ten months, to be precise – since _Small Print_ first made its unspectacular debut onto FFNet under the mantle of a "one-shot", submitted in the early hours of 31st October, 2005.

I think it's fair to say it has come far since that day. What began life as a sideline one-shot that I wrote while I procrastinated updating the long-finished _Asylum_ has become the most popular fanfic on my profile, achieved infamy, spawned AMVs, fan-art and even a shrine, and, most importantly, became a co-written endeavor.

I stress that last part especially, since it is because of _Small Print_ that I am sitting on the floor of Narroch's basement eating saltwater taffy as I type this. Yes, I am indeed Stateside instead of swimming the high street in Britain (it's all flooded over there – worst recorded summer ever…); and yes, that means that, for the first time since _Small Print_ became a tandem-project, Narroch and RobinRocks are actually together in person. Whoo. It's momentous.

It's okay, kids – not _everyone_ on the internet is a creepy stalker…

Anyway, we felt that there was no better time than to draw the final curtain on _Small Print_ than this, so we've pulled it all together into this epic last chapter that will probably make your eyes bleed… eh heh…

Take a deep breath, guys – it's a long one, but, most importantly…

It's the last one.

Endgame

Over the stretched lifeline of human history, science has submitted three major _culture shocking_ blows to the naive self-love of humankind. The first occurred when we learned and accepted that earth was not the center of the universe after all, but only a tiny insignificant mote of dust floating in a scarcely conceivable vastness.

The second blow fell when biological research destroyed mankind's supposedly privileged place in creation, and proved his descent from the animal kingdom and his immovable animal nature.

But the third and most severe blow to human megalomania came from psychology, which proved that the ego is not even master of its own house, and must content itself with scanty information of what is going on unconsciously in the mind. That there is an entirely hidden realm in our minds that we have no knowledge or power over, but its latent scurrying can control every aspect of our conscious free-willed life. And when we grasp that disturbing insight, the real hard truth comes out:

Humans have no control, not even over their own wills.

A mind is as easy to topple as a sand castle, the once proudly impregnable fortress becomes an indistinguishable pile of grit; worthless dirt. Time and pressure is all it takes, forces that are strong enough to raze mountains and heave valleys. And for us sun circling, animal descended, oblivious minded _humans_, time and pressure is more than enough to kill.

In more ways than one.

**TT**

The early morning hospital milieu was eerie. Too cold, too still – everything seemed frozen in the harsh bone white lights. The unnerving silence would occasionally be broken by other patients being admitted in various degrees of criticality, however, as soon as the small medical mob passed by, the disquieting suffocating feeling would reign once more.

It was a sterilized silence. Disinfected and drugged up, just like everything else in the hospital.

The recovery room, decorated solely in toneless white, was barren and uninviting, making the patients contained in their bleached walls seem worse than they actually were. The bleak pallor of the room radiated an air of inflexible pessimism.

_This is a room for sick people_, the featureless walls seemed to say.

That same discouragement wasn't confined to the room itself either; it crept out into the hallways, through the waiting rooms, seeping right outside Robin's door and whispered to the occupants of that space as well.

But they wouldn't heed the scrapings of guilt and fear. Not when there was such a compelling presence to behold. An inkblot in the white contained world of the hospital, the juxtaposition so obvious it made the air around him _pop_. They couldn't take their eyes off of him; their savior.

Batman had returned.

* * *

He entered the room alone, and stepped soundlessly closer to the bed – his masked gaze riveted on the figure lying in it. With each consecutive step, the lump of emotion that had lodged in his throat grew larger - by the time he'd reached the bedside, he was close to choking on it. 

There was a mangled left arm thickly coated in a plaster cast lying limply across his stomach, gently being cradled in a loose sling. There were various protruding surgical pins also visible through the cast. His significantly less mangled right arm had two needles injected into it, each minute spike held down with a clear band aid. One needle in the back of the hand dispensed a slow-dripping clear liquid, the other needle stuck into the crook of his elbow dribbled dark blood like an outside vein, a reverse vampire sustaining his leaking and ravaged body.

Batman slowly worked his gaze up to Robin's face; his eyes procrastinating on the wires trailing from under the thin hospital gown, and could not clamp down on the sharp shocked inhalation that gusted through him when he finally saw Robin's face. Save for his untidy nest of sheenless black hair sprouting from the bandages wrapped thickly about his head, Robin was, without any extra effort on his part, doing a remarkably good chameleon imitation. His bleached visage blended in perfectly with his colorless environment.

Pale skin, on pale sheets, in a pale room.

His shockingly thin face was ashen; the only bit of color on his face was a single dark charcoal rim encircling the deep, hollowed socket of his one remaining eye. However, if Batman were to lift the bandages only slightly away, he would see plenty of color from the raw angry red burn marks from a Starbolt, the skin still bleeding and covered in blisters. He would see the vividly colorful bruise from the impact of a proton cannon blotched over most of his chest, turning green and brown in some places, still black and untouchably sensitive in others; fractured ribs floating just beneath the battered flesh. He would be able to see the splintered white bones from a hyena's crushing bite on his left arm, which aside from being attached to his shoulder; the mangled limb was almost unrecognizable as an arm under the cast. He would be able to see the many inflamed lesions and swollen wounds littered over his body from the many falls and telekinetic throws.

And of course all the watermarks of _previous_ pain and torture, both physical and psychological, were still there as well. Hidden away beneath bandages and unconsciousness, but still undeniably lurking on Robin's body and psyche. Even with Slade gone his influences were still evident.

Robin was still bleeding wherever the bandages couldn't reach.

Bending at the waist, hands resting gently on the neutral white sheets, Batman leant forward, carefully scrutinizing the others' face as if waiting to be swatted away.

_What did you get yourself into, Robin?_ He thought, and then shook his head dispelling the thought. No. That wasn't it. Why did he underestimate so badly? How could he have been so wrong?

_What option did I leave for you to take? _

Bruce couldn't hold back as his patience exploded in a bomb of compassion. As gently as he could from the awkward angle, he gathered Robin's shoulders up in his broad arms, leaning his body forward until they met in a halfway horizontal hug. Bruce gripped him tighter as he placed his chin over Robin's shoulder. He noticed how incredibly cold and limp the boy was, totally unresponsive to his embrace with his head lolled back, his arms uselessly wilted at his side. It was like hugging a fresh corpse, death having yet to steal all body warmth before rigor mortis set in. The small puffs of air wafting gently over his face and the background beep of machines were the only things that reassured him that Robin was still alive.

It was a small comfort. The pins digging into his chest from the cast prodded him with guilty barbs. He could have prevented this. If only he had been more aware. If only he had had more forethought, he could have seen through Slade's plan. If only he had _been _there, things would have ended differently. But as all the "If only…"s swam through his mind, he knew how futile it was. He hadn't been there for him, and none of his wishing it away would change anything. He would have to swallow the bitter pill of responsibility.

Robin, on the other hand, may already have accepted it. After all, he had lived through it. And Robin's wishing for rescue was much stronger, and much shorter lived, than Bruce's wish for another chance. After a fantastic struggle and monumental denial of his enslavement, Robin had eventually burned out, given up and resigned to his fate. But the guilt that Bruce felt now would never dissipate.

Especially when Robin, for the first time since Bruce had entered the room, trembled slightly and let out a tiny cracked moan. Bruce's heart leapt up for an instant only to be violently spiked down when Robin turned his head slightly and began to softly nuzzle into his neck. Bruce froze, unsure of what to do, halfway tempted to abort the embrace but unable to force himself away from Robin's warmth-seeking contact. He didn't know what to make of it… until he heard Robin give off another minute moan that trailed off to a whispered plea.

"Slade…"

He wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't so close, but it was undeniable. The lump of emotion that had been lodged in his throat the entire time swelled painfully, and he had to breathe hard to stop the prickling tears of sorrow and anger from falling. The guilt solidified itself in his chest and sank claws into his heart. He slowly, gently pulled away from Robin, laying him carefully back on the pillows.

The single blue eye fluttered blearily open, dull and undiscerning for a stretched moment where Bruce struggled to hastily compose himself. Then, in a split second where all the disjointed pieces of reality jarred and slammed into position with a sickening _crunch, _Robin's eye widened into a bright feverbutton of confusion and fear.

_Slade, Titans, shock, fear, betrayal, hatred, pain (so much pain!), complete darkness. _

The memories poured in relentlessly, hounding him as he tried desperately to orient himself in the room that was too bright, with nothing to see, and everything blending a single white soup. Only one item was distinct, the stark black outline of a man leaning over his bed.

_Not Slade, not Slade, not Slade._

His eyes riveted onto the single shadow in the room, unable to tear his gaze away and get lost in the white nothingness and the domineering memories. He needed something to lock onto. Something to stabilize him.

_Not Slade… No! Bruce? No! Batman… no… _

_Enemy? _

"Robin… you're awake."

_Shaking, shaking, he is shaking… is he scared? No, he is never scared… Why is he shaking?_

"I… We thought we had lost you there for a while. We were all very worried."

The words limped, and staggered, and died. So many things to say…and that was the best he could think of. He knew how lame they sounded, especially when he got no reaction from Robin save his intense stare, pain and confusion, and incomprehension still rampant within it.

"But, things will get better now. You are safe, nothing will ever hurt you again."

Still nothing. All of Robin's attention was fixated on him, but still the words held no meaning for the boy whatsoever. Robin couldn't comprehend what was happening, and the words were just unintelligible white noise. Bruce started to feel the defensive rise of panic twist in his gut when he saw the deaf dismay etched onto Robin's face. He had to get through to him somehow, or else…

Or else he would never get through to him again.

"Robin! It's me!" He didn't dare say his name out loud while in uniform, but Robin had to see him, had to know he was here to help. He had to know that he was _free_ now.

Bruce had wanted to wait until Robin was more stable until he told him of Slade's death, but he was so scared of losing him before he could even begin to heal. So he dropped the carefully guarded information, and let the ramifications grow wild.

"Slade is dead."

_That _got a reaction. But not quite what Bruce had in mind.

The three words pierced Robin like buckshot, and he visibly jerked back into the bed, his single pupil contracting to a catatonic pinprick. His breath hitched up and one of the machines gave off a casual beep, commenting on the sudden respiratory spike. His one working hand clenched and balled itself into the sheets tightly, desperately groping for something stable to hold. He began looking wildly about the room, as if to check if the man was actually hiding there and this was all a big joke. In a few seconds he would slide out, laugh offhandedly at him, and then rip him out of the bed, and start the whole thing over again.

He would do something like that. Something brusquely evil, a casually trivial thing to amuse him; watching Robin's world break down into tiny pieces even as he was scrambling around trying to gather the shards that had already fallen.

But Slade did not appear, and nothing in the white room changed; the veracity of the words finally sank in.

_Slade is dead. _

_He's dead. He's gone. No more master and apprentice. No more craving or caving in. No more struggle. Nothing. _

_There is nothing left now. _

And for the first time since Bruce stepped into the room, Robin spoke. But not with words. There were no words that could possibly explain or convey his feelings at that very second. No, instead he laughed. At first Bruce thought he was choking, bent over with his right hand clenched tightly across his mouth, spasming in little shocked bursts over the rumpled sheets. Then his head jerked back with a glazed eye and his mouth opened as far as the wiring in his broken jaw would allow and he started laughing. Rusty screaming peals of laughter that echoed and rebounded against the walls, driving right back into him and forcing out even more of the horrible hysterics from his broken body. It was disturbing how such a laugh could convey no happiness whatsoever, and instead only sounded like raw anguish. Mixed feelings escaping in a mixed way.

Bruce did not laugh. He knew what the howls really conveyed; a delirium haze of instability finally showing through. He grabbed Robin's shoulders tightly, pulling the boy forward, and barked out his name, trying to get through to the hysterical boy. Robin only lolled his head back and continued screaming, crying, laughing, scraping out his lungs with every breath until Bruce finally whipped his arm around and smacked Robin squarely across his face. Painful red tinged his cheek as the room was suddenly freakishly silent.

"Hurts…" Robin whispered quietly. His wired jaw made the word sound clenched and unnatural while the rest of him was still shaking and hiccupping as the tears ripened in his left eye. "Why…? Why does it hurt so much?"

Bruce knew he wasn't talking about that last smack. Or any other physical injuries for that matter. But having Robin speaking again was a good sign, even if the message was not. Before Bruce could even think of an answer to the whimpered question, Robin fell back softly into the pillows once again, surrendering himself to the shock and fading away entirely. Bruce watched as his eye glazed back over and he sank away into unconsciousness again. He let out a shaky breath that he didn't even realize he had been holding and stepped back from the bed.

He knew from the start that things would be messy. That there would be anger, resentment, residual emotional scraps that could not be tossed away as easily as the trashed remains of the wretched trigger that had been the catalyst for all of this. But he had also expected some sort of vindication. For himself, but mostly for Robin.

With Slade dead, he had hoped that Robin would also be able to let the apprentice within him die as well. Maybe not be overjoyed with his kidnapper's death, but at the very least be able to move on and look forward.

But that hadn't happened. He hadn't even been able to accept the fact, let alone take comfort in it. As he watched the tears dry over Robin's cold skin, tears shed for _Slade_, he felt himself asking the same question.

_Why does it hurt so much?_

**TT**

The shock had easily driven him under and the potent painkillers had helped him remain there. But the numbness had been slowly draining away, and now it was the unfettered pain that awoke him before anything else. While he still wasn't coherent enough to remember _why _he was so injured, the reawakening damage was driving Robin into new levels of agony. He groaned softly, still wavering on the border of consciousness. He tried to melt further into the blankets away from the fresh pain, back into the blissfully numb darkness. Where he didn't have to feel anything, as opposed to reality, where he had to feel _everything_ – every exquisitely agonizing detail.

His left arm was on fire – the broken nerves issued spasms as blood attempted to flow through damaged veins; the movement disturbing the repair his body and the surgeons had done while he could feel nothing. It jarred the fractured bones awake, and he could feel the metal piercing through the living marrow. Holding it all together in a giant swollen pain encasing cast.

The rest of him ached terribly; some spots were just a dull throbbing, other places were sharp and piercing. His chest was tight and fought against his breathing, which was painful and difficult to begin with. His head felt like it weighed a ton and kept swimming queasily through pools of cloudiness and feverish fatigue.

But the worst pain of all radiated from the right side of his face. An electrified lance had been jammed into his skull through the right eye socket and it could not be ignored for any longer. But he didn't want to wake up enough to do anything about the pain. Because he knew. There was something in the waking world that he didn't want to face. Some horrible truth that his comatose mind couldn't grasp, but comprehension would rush in like a torrent the second he woke up completely. The pain was getting worse by the second, and he couldn't hold out as it spiked and surged him forcibly into consciousness.

The hospital room was a dull blue, dotted randomly with tiny red and green pinpoints from the lights on the machines he was attached to. The small digital clock at his bedside table read three eighteen AM in blocky red numbers.

There was no one around.

Robin stifled a cry, gripping the sheets and tightly clenching his teeth; noticing for the first time that they didn't quite fit together anymore. Some teeth had chips in them, and his whole jaw just felt _off. _Not to mention extremely tender, shooting thick shards of pain through the back of his jaw and face when he tried to clamp his teeth together. He relaxed his tightened mouth, relieving some of the pain but still on edge and getting more scared by the second. He didn't like being alone. He rarely was anymore, because Slade was always there.

Slade was always…

Slade was…

_Slade is dead. _

The recollection hit him suddenly, and without warning. While tears and painkillers had robbed his memory of the details, he _did _remember those three dangerous words. He remembered, but he didn't accept them. He couldn't. He couldn't possibly believe that the man that had forced him under, nearly drowned him in corruption, and then hauled him back up from those very same depths of wickedness, the man with whom he had shared an infinity of pain and pleasure, the man who he could call Master, enemy, and _lover _all in the same breath, the man for whom he had sacrificed himself…

No, Slade couldn't be gone. It was impossible.

He drove the thought away angrily. But it returned and sat outside his skull. Like a dog. Waiting.

Unavoidable.

He could deny it all he wanted, but the small intact sane piece of him clearly called him out on his denial.

Slade was dead.

Proof: He was still alive.

Proof: Batman and the Titans were still alive.

Proof: Slade hadn't come bursting into the room to retrieve his lost possession.

If Slade were alive, well, someone else wouldn't be, and he would not be here all alone in a cold hospital room fighting off excruciating pain as the drugs slowly drained away. If Slade were alive, he would already be back in the villain's lair being punished for his disobedience. Or perhaps rewarded? The difference between rewards and punishment had been getting blurred lately.

Gray.

But he wasn't there. There was nothing there. A yawning gaping Slade shaped hole in the world, from where all his fears seeped out like a plague. Anger could easily fill that void which Slade's death had drilled out and stop the flow temporarily, but it was an empty substance that could dissipate as easily as it grew.

Coldness, bitterness, isolation, loneliness… they were the sticking kind.

And memories.

Those of whom he knew. Who he could use. Who could carry the burden of the hurt. And his list was long; there were plenty of people to spread with sticky blame. Darts of condemnation clutched tightly in his sweating palm, Robin aimed without seeing – blinded by his anger, by his fear of a world without Masters.

Any of them, any one he wanted. He could hate one of them; he could hate all of them. Weigh the malevolence against his own physical pain – his own inner tears. Anything he wanted could be justified.

Any of them.

Cyborg, Raven, Beast Boy, Starfire…

Slade. Batman.

Robin paused, uncertain, accusation still spiking in his fingers. Who was worse? He who was the knife, the one who caused the tragedy; or he who was the sheath, the one who could've stopped it.

It never would have happened if it hadn't been for them.

Robin gripped the knife between anxious fingers and glared in on himself, contempt twisting in his gut as he stared at the shriveled remains of his malnourished soul.

There was only one person he wanted to blame. Only one person he could really blame for any and all of this.

And he was lying in a hospital bed still hanging around death's door, trying to figure out why he didn't just step through that portal and stop all the hurt inside. All the guilt.

Unable to hold it in and desperate for dark oblivion away from this strange impossible Slade-less world; Robin let out a shaky, pain-tinged wail that echoed eerily through the lonesome, quiet room.

He then heard something (_someone_)behind him on his right side mutter softly. The noise (_voice_)was low and unintelligible, but it pierced the silence like a finely-honed blade. The deep murmuring trailed off for an instant, but then returned seconds later even stronger. While the babbling continued to phase in and out, Robin lay rigid with pain and fear, his body caught between the throes of flight or fight, yet unable to do anything but wait.

But he didn't have to wait very long. From no direction in particular came a smooth, hollow laugh – its joyless tone chilling the calm of the silent blue room. Robin shivered as the sound penetrated his skin to his bones, burrowing into his marrow and propagating like gangrene.

It was the laugh of someone who definitely didn't think something was funny.

"There now, it's alright, my dear apprentice. Can't reach the call button? Don't worry, I heard you. I can _always_ hear you."

The heavy drugs which were used to keep him unconscious, and beautifully numb his tired flesh, were no longer being administered and his night's dose of painkillers were wearing off prematurely as the plug that was fitted to the clear plastic bag of the intravenous drip was askew, the liquid dripping gently to the ground. But Robin couldn't have cared less.

Too ill to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake and forced into battling the emotional typhoon that had risen up upon hearing the dead man's voice. His master was alive, and he didn't know what to feel, full to the brim with his own contradictions. Elation, a giddy horse-galloping glee; anger, dark and fierce and unquenchable as a berserker; fear, panicky mind numbing terror of what the dead man had in store for him. Unable to understand or contain any of it, he began yelling out Slade's name, over and over, desperately needing to see him, to have his strong undeniable hands upon him and yet at the same time petrified by his very presence in the room. He started thrashing, trying to move, but restrained by the bed, and the bandages, and his own weakness as he continued to hoarsely call out Slade's name.

His right eye was lanced through again with fiery pain with each movement, but Slade did not step forward into his field of vision. And as the doors clattered open, and the Titans rushed in looking like refugees, and the doctors swarmed over him again he continued to scream, dimly wondering why Slade didn't just come out and take him again, right in front of them all.

Madness slinked in through a chink.

**TT**

The neurologists had said that it was a discharging lesion in the temporal cortex, caused perhaps by the Starbolt, or one of the other cranial injuries Robin had sustained. But _understanding_ the medical reasoning versus _accepting_ why their friend had gone crazy were two very different things. They had gotten accustomed to it, to a degree. Knowing he was still battling the ghost of Slade where the real one had left off.

On bad days, the voice had hands, and bent over him. Slowly, deliberately, malevolently, squeezing the breath out of him and making him scream out loud. Most of the time, one of the Titans would come running and remind him where he was, that it was all in his head, and that everything would be fine. The hands would loosen their grip, and slink back into his paranoia, but the voice would stay, whispering obscene commands into his ear. Sometimes (when the Titans _didn't _come) the probing burning hands receded of their own accord, the voice stopped its velvet chanting and the horrifyingly silent room he lay in grew impossibly large, terrorizing him with the specter of his own insignificance. That too made him cry out.

Insanity hovered close at hand, like an eager waiter at an expensive restaurant (lighting cigarettes, refilling glasses, subtly begging for tips).

Trapped by geometry, struggling with fear, rage, madness, hopelessness, apathy.

Somehow unable to accept the cheap form of exorcism that his friends constantly tried to use, telling him many times in many different ways that he was not the sinner. He was the sinned against. He had no control. He was the _victim, _not the perpetrator.

It would have helped if he could have made that crossing, if he could have believed their comforting words. If he could have worn, even temporarily, the tragic shroud of victimhood. But there was still at least one strong faculty that had not left him because of his time with Slade…

He still had his undeniable sense of responsibility, a corrupted form of duty. Feeling accountable for his actions, even when there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could have done. Instead of being the victim, he was the guilty one. The accused, condemned. He had brought this upon himself, not being fast enough, or strong enough, or smart enough to escape Slade's clutches in the first place.

But the inflexible liability was more complicated than that. It ran deeper. Not only did he feel it was his fault for being ensnared, it was also his fault that Slade had to beat him, it was his fault that Slade had to starve him, it was his fault that Slade had to force himself upon him over and over again. But it was even _more_ his fault when those actions became acceptable, even enjoyable. He looked forward to the torture.

And no one could convince him that any of it wasn't his fault. Especially not now when being thrust back into the previous mold, and he could see just how fucked up he was through the reflections in the Titans' eyes. He blamed himself for that too… for his own madness. Even when they were out of danger, he was still hurting them, over and over, and he couldn't make himself stop. He couldn't go back to how it used to be. And _that_ was his fault too.

He left behind a hole in the universe through which darkness poured like liquid tar. The hole through which Slade disappeared, without so much as a backwards glance, and left Robin spinning in the dark, with no mooring, in a place with no foundation.

**TT**

The first attack after his homecoming was unexpected. When he was suddenly overwhelmed by a nameless fear, a perfectly insane and abject terror, without ostensible cause.

Robin hovered in an inescapable trance, halfway between a tormented life on Earth and the licking searing flames of Hell. He lay on his bed, tumbled to the floor, clawed his way up the wall to stand on his feet, staggered about the room and fell to the floor again. Threatening voices, monsters, flames and blood exploded and pounded with unimaginable force in his head; he thought his skull would burst. He could feel claws tearing at his throat, creatures squirming and biting inside him, heavy hands around his arms and legs, forcing him down flat on the floor, spreading him apart and violating him.

Or _was_ this Hell? Had he been here before? Surely Hell was familiar to him by now.

Then again, you weren't supposed to _enjoy_ Hell…

He could hear Slade's voice, swirling around him in jumbled waves of sound; nothing distinct, no distinguishable words, just his angry voice pounding into him. His master was angry, and eventually the tumult began to take the shape of a single furious word, repeating end on end without stop "_Failed, failed, failed…!_".

The chant was parading about his head, and he was unable to stop the hateful torrent; "_you have failed, you have failed me, you will die, you will die…_".

Did he really hold a knife in his hand? Or was this too another vision from his cracked mind? He could feel a terrible yawning; a strong undeniable impulse to be free of the torment, to break loose from the bodily shell, the prison of pain and flesh that bound him.

"_Come apprentice, join me, join me_…".

He felt the edge of the knife and blood trickled down his fingers.

The alarm rang.

Time froze. The bedroom registered on his retinas.

The alarm rang.

He was in his bedroom. There was blood on the floor.

The alarm rang.

He was on his knees on the floor of his bedroom. He had cut his finger.

The alarm was still ringing.

But then other voices came to him, _real_ voices, more distinct and vital than the ghost hissing in his ear. They ignored the alarm and crowded around Robin, taking the knife away, examining his dripping finger, all the while talking to him. Anger, fear, relief; he could hear it all, and the alarm continued to ring.

Ignored.

**TT**

Maybe communication was the problem. The Teen Titans had all noticed it, and frankly, more fool them if they hadn't; because what they had now, all these weeks later, was a creature who _looked_ like Robin, and, technically, _was_ Robin, but the communicative link between this creature and his team-mates had been severed, and that really made all the difference in the world.

Maybe it had happened the moment he had turned off his tracker and own T-insignia-ed comm., but a certain wall had been erected across the small bit of progress they had made, and there was no getting through it.

He'd been out of hospital less than a month; and Raven watched him patter around the kitchen over her tea. Maybe too avid a reader it made her, but she saw a stretch of stagnant water between him and the rest of the team, slicked across with a rainbow film that looked like a solid walkway. Like he was still within their reach, all they had to do was wait for him to walk back over that distance to them. With time, with patience, with understanding. he would be able to close that gap between them.

But solid the bridge was not.

One step too close to the thin layer of scum, and the whole thing – the only thing that made him look sane and stable – would collapse and be pulled downwards, dragging him down into the depths of his own blood-deep insanity, and perhaps anyone else who happened to be too near.

Maybe Raven could see that fragile film clearer than anyone else, and though she and the other Titans begged for him to come back to them, she was afraid that he wouldn't survive the journey even if he wanted to return to the way things were. She could see it in his silence, because of what she was – empathic, among other things – but the other Titans had noticed the lack of communication too. He barely spoke anymore, to anyone at all; and it wasn't just his communication with people that was amiss. It was his nonverbal communication with everything around him – objects, rooms, sounds. The totality of his interactions with his environment was completely off.

Raven watched him, as she had been doing for a while now, going from the fridge to the cupboard with milk and coffee grain, his left hand held at a closer more secure angle to his body since he had been known to drop things from that hand ever since the cast had been taken off. The way he moved was methodical, not careless as it once would have been, since method had been beaten ruthlessly into him. The way he touched things was, though invisible to anyone not watching him as intently or internally as Raven was, slightly flinching, as though he thought it might lash out at him. He moved as if he was made of glass and every movement was consciously thought out. He was acting like he was constantly on stage, constantly being scrutinized and nothing he did was just naturally Robin. It was as if he wasn't really living at all, but just acting, following the script of their expectations.

No, he looked all sewn together on the outside, just as that oily film over the depthless black water looked solid; but beneath he was barely held together at all. Just a few threads, and that was all.

Raven could see it; and so could Batman.

The Dark Knight hadn't left the boy's side even once after he had been rescued. Even now, he was standing right outside the doorway to the kitchen, watching everything. He noticed just as much as Raven, but without the use of any empathic powers. Being classified as the unofficial world's best detective was not just an empty boast, and he could see the invisible forces bearing down on Robin. He could discern the effects of Stockholm Syndrome still holding sway over his actions, stopping him from forming any new attachments to the friends who had rescued him. He could see the fear still tormenting Robin, still making him vulnerable. Because no matter how normal he looked outwardly, he still had the mindset of a victim. He was still expecting to be in some sort of pain, and was surprised each morning to find that he wasn't. Their kindness surprised him at best, and unnerved him at worst.

Batman could see it even now as Robin was pouring the milk into the cup. He was subtly glancing about the room as he did it, his shoulders hunched forward just a bit, with his head down. His stance was fidgety, and he could also see the slightest glistening of sweat on his brow even though the kitchen was quite cool. Every inch of him was silently conveying his true feelings while his mouth remained tightly shut and he went about his normal business. But nothing about it was normal, since he looked like he was about to be slapped.

Batman had seen this type of behavior before, with abused children and battered wives. The way they lived in constant fear, but hid it so well beneath the gauze of normalcy. Their silence useless to the trained eye, since the body gives everything away. The subtlest interactions speak volumes about the state of the person.

For Robin, after watching him for so many days now, he knew just how shaky this entire situation was. He didn't know how much longer it would last until there was another breakdown. He didn't know how to fix him, and didn't know why Robin wasn't able to break free from the oppressed rut he was stuck in.

His uncertainty was partly because he was too close to Robin, and his usual objectivity was hard to come by when all he really wanted to do was scoop him up and dry his tears, take his pain away. But doing something like that would not only be out of character for himself, but would probably scare Robin more than help him.

The other piece that made recovery so dubious was his unique situation. Because Robin wasn't _just_ scared like the textbook described.

There was much more than just fear haunting Robin. A smear of black anger was hidden away beneath the surface; it tarnished every interaction, and coated the few words he spoke voluntarily. He was angry all the time, and his rage would rear up unexpectedly, lashing out at anything and _anyone_ who was in range.

When something reminded him of Slade, or more specifically, Slade's death, the results of his apprenticeship would show through with deadly force. Despite his acting like traumatized glass, Robin was still undeniably lethal and they had acquired more than a few broken pieces of furniture to prove it.

But the final and most looming obstacle hindering Robin, was Slade himself. If he could just get away from him, if he could just be completely free from his influences, things would eventually change for the better. The nightmare would fade, and their patient kindness would replace the cold expecting fear he constantly felt. The hateful words would eventually weaken as their confessions of friendship strengthened. After enough time, there would be a metamorphosis within him, created just the same way as his first transformation. With enough time everything would change.

But there was something stopping that natural flow of positive conversion. The fact that Robin was still trapped within Slade's influences was the killing all their efforts. It was as if the man was still in the room, whispering into Robin's ear at every second, nullifying anything they tried to say or do. Instead of their presence being a comfort to him, it was more like temptation. As if baiting a dog trained to kill, and then expecting it not to bite when its master commands it to. The fact that he hadn't already succumbed to the Slade in his head and gone berserk trying to kill them all was just proof of his own strength of will.

A will that had been broken long ago.

Batman wondered how much of a struggle Robin was going through right then. Hunched over in clandestine fear, with an evil presence in his head commanding him to attack. How much of an effort it was to deny that order, how much of an effort it was to just act _normal_. As if nothing was wrong. Nothing was happening.

When in reality, Slade was right there behind him.

That presence threw a shadow over everything they tried. It made Robin continually unstable, and unpredictable.

If there was one thing Batman didn't like, it was being uncertain.

But there was one thing he knew for sure. And that was that this little happy house façade couldn't go on forever. Something was going to have to change, and whether it would be Robin or the rest of the Titans remained to be seen.

Although perhaps that was something any of them would rather not see.

Batman got that prickling sensation at the back of his neck; the uncanny indication of someone's gaze settling on him, and glanced up. Raven's violet eyes spoke volumes, and he nodded slightly. Silent secrets between the winged creatures of night; how very poetic…

And music to the ears, perhaps; unlike the shattering of the coffee mug as Robin finally, and predictably, dropped it.

He didn't move at all; merely froze, gazing sorrowfully down at it as it bled on the hard kitchen floor. Both Batman and Raven saw his shoulders tense up ever so slightly, as though bracing himself to be hit in punishment.

Raven stood.

"I'll get it, Robin," she said quietly, employing her powers to lift a dustpan and brush from the sideboard. "Sit down."

He frowned at, but took note of, the imperative, and began to back up as she neared him and the cup. Batman watched his behavior with the same grim interest; Robin's response to someone closing in on his personal space was a mixture of that of predator and prey, in that he sharply and immediately retreated from them, but with a subtle body language that suggested he was ready to pounce at them at any given moment and go right for the throat. His fists had clenched when Raven had addressed him; and his gaze never lifted from her. Batman trusted that Raven could defend herself effortlessly should she need to, but it broke his heart even so to see his own Boy Wonder such a vicious, unstable little time-bomb.

Starfire, Beast Boy and Cyborg chose to make an unfortunate co-entrance at that point; evidently the TV program they had been watching was over. Raven glanced up as she sensed Robin's heartbeat speed up, a sure sign of his rising stress level. He must have made it apparent on the outside also, for Beast Boy and Cyborg only nodded at him, and did not attempt to close the subtly-increasing gap between the former Boy Wonder and the rest of the team.

Starfire was another matter entirely; elated to simply have him back alive and well, she ignored the new derogatory traits in him, and made excuses in her heart for his changed and often aggressive behavior.

"Greetings, Robin," she said chirpily, as though nothing had changed at all; she floated nearer to him and he quickly backed away from her. She either truly didn't notice, or pretended not to, as she continued; "Cyborg, Beast Boy and I watched a truly interesting program about the effects of explosives on various inanimate objects. It was fascinating."

Robin nodded, watching her warily. He ached to lash out at her, perhaps simply for being so happy; and his hand twitched a little as he flexed his fingers. But he did not raise his hand to her, only backed away a little more.

"Yes," he said blithely, and offered nothing more even when she looked expectantly at him. Truly, he had nothing to say to her; nothing at all. There was nothing she could possibly understand – no, not her. Not Starfire.

And so, not understanding – maybe because she couldn't, or maybe simply because she _wouldn't_ – Starfire again closed the gradually-growing gap between herself and him, and went so far as to grasp his upper arm. He tensed, and gooseflesh rose under the heat of her hand, and for a moment, an intense, enigmatic blackness grasped at him, but failed to pull him away from consciousness. This was not desire, or hormones; this was fear, fear of touch trained into him.

This was damage.

"Then," Starfire went on, not noticing the theatrics, "perhaps you might consider joining Cyborg, Beast Boy and I in the viewing of a movie? I believe there is one being shown in approximately—"

"No," Robin interrupted her suddenly and abruptly, his voice cold.

"But Robin—" Starfire began to protest, unable to keep the waver from her voice; Raven sensed danger in that, and had her suspicions rewarded when Robin snatched his arm from the alien princess' grip as though she was burning him.

"No!" He said again, stress level rising to the point where it was clearly evident in his tone. He pulled right back, glaring at her with narrowed eyes, slightly glazed behind the mask; the glaze being all that was left of the shield that protected him from the rest of them. "No, no, no, no, _no_!"

"S'okay, man," Cyborg said calmly, close behind him now that Robin had backed up so far from Starfire. "We heard you the first—"

"_NO_!" Robin screeched, suddenly whirling on the half-robot and swinging out at him. He missed, but Cyborg shrank back even so, his eyes wide.

"Hey, yo," he said softly, his metal hands raised in surrender. "Chill, man."

"He didn't mean to freak you, dude," Beast Boy murmured, keeping his distance. His gaze slid to Raven, who made a slicing motion in the air, signaling for both he and Cyborg to stop digging; Robin had backed against the counter, his eyes narrowed and baleful.

"So," Beast Boy said, getting the message, "movie?"

"Right," Cyborg echoed, taking Beast Boy's arm and leading him towards the Operations Center. "Movie. C'mon, Star."

Starfire nodded, but shot a pleading glance at Robin as she rose a few inches from the floor. She held out her hand towards him.

"Robin, please join us, your friends, in the hanging out," she begged.

He looked from her hand to her tentatively-smiling face and back again, his shifting gaze wary. Then, slowly, he raised his own arm, as though making to reach for her straining fingers. Her smile broadened, and she floated a little closer to him to encourage him.

Which was when he snapped.

"Get _away_ from me!" He screamed. His arm swung out and up with lighting-fast precision, swiping her hand away from him with a blow so jarring it would have dislocated her arm had she not been a Tamaranean warrior princess.

She withdrew her arm, clutching at the wrist where he had smacked it away, tears beginning to swell in her jade eyes.

"_Robin_," she whispered, her voice crushed and ragged.

"_NO!_" He yelled, suddenly clutching at his head as though taken with a splitting headache. "Get away! I said _get away_!"

He fled the kitchen blindly, and Raven rose as he did so; Starfire sank to her knees on the kitchen floor, her shoulders shaking as the tears overcame her. Raven stepped past her, her cloak trailing the tiles as she pulled up her hood.

"You are going to retrieve him?" Batman stated rather than asked; Raven paused, and turned her shadowed face towards him.

"I think that I should," was the extent of her reply.

"May I suggest that you leave him be?" Batman went on emotionlessly.

"I don't think that's a very a good idea."

"I know."

"Then why…?"

"I didn't expect you to agree to it. However…" Batman moved to the doorway to act as a barrier. "I will not insult your intelligence. I know you are aware that he is… _damaged_. He is Robin, but not _your_ Robin. He has changed. You can see that as clearly as I can. I know that. But I am not sure you understand that he never _will be_ your Robin again. It may cause sacrifice, or change, but you can't treat him the way you once did. Leave him; please, just… leave him alone."

The muffled sound of a motorbike suddenly drifted up from two floors below; and Raven pulled down her hood to turn half-shocked, half-angered violet eyes on the Dark Knight.

"And you think this wise?" She snapped, knowing he had heard it. "He's… _leaving_ the tower. In his state, I don't—"

"This isn't a lesson," Batman interrupted coolly. "This isn't hypothetical. This is something that you… we _all_ have to deal with. His destruction, or his salvation. The decision is his to make."

He suddenly placed a hand on Raven's cloaked shoulder.

"I know it's hard, but you have to let him go."

"And if he doesn't come back?" Raven asked coldly. She raised her chin to look him in the eye. "You know as well as I do that that is…"

"Highly likely," Batman finished for her. "Of course. But know that if you love something, you must let it go. If it comes back, it is yours to keep, but if it does not, it was never meant to be."

"How can you say that?" Raven asked hollowly, shocked by what she considered to be a callous attitude. "He… he was yours. He was at your side longer than ours, you _made_ him, you… how can you _say_ that?"

"Because," said Batman, "I love him most of all."

* * *

It was going to rain.

He could look up at the sky and see the density of dark blustery storm clouds that were stumbling along before the wind; but moreover, he could _taste_ it, thick and humid in the air. He could _feel_ it, moist and leaden, blowing across his skin. The air was dense enough to swim through.

He didn't _care_ about it.

The streets of Jump City were near-empty; probably because of the foreboding weather. The air was heavy, static. Everyone _else_ could sense it too. Had he truly thought himself _different_ for a second there? Like _he_ could sense it and they could not? Had he thought himself _special_? That very notion had been wrung right out of him. He was nobody. Nothing. Not worthy of being a hero, and too much of a coward to try and be anything else than that once Slade was gone. The villain had broken the mold and taken it with him.

He shivered. Shook his head.

It reminded him of a _dream_…

He shook that away too. He had been getting better at it lately, figuring out how to circumvent his own thoughts in a cycle of self-repetitious loops; revealing nothing of himself, to himself. It helped keep the other voices quiet as well.

He knew _they_ were probably worried. They would probably come looking for him. He knew that he would have to go back with them.

He… he _wanted_ to. He wanted to go home. Soon. Because he _belonged_ with them, if only for the fact that they hadn't thrown him out themselves and he had nowhere else to go.

He was a _Teen Titan_. Or at least…he had been…

So then…

…why had he _run away_?

He would go back; he _would_.

Soon.

Standing atop a skyscraper, the newly-restored Boy Wonder looked down at the city he had once sworn to protect; and here he was, back again.

His contract had never truly expired. Not even when he had been…

…_away_.

That was the _small print_ for you.

Once upon a time – a time before the word _apprentice_ had echoed around and around his head – his geography had been solid, he had known every dip and spike in the skyline of his city; been able to trace a map of the back of his hand at the height of a mission and send his team-mates on their respective ways to apprehend whichever crook they were chasing.

Now it suddenly looked so… strange to him. As though… _faded_. Both things had happened, it had shrunk, and he had grown.

It was not nearly as familiar as the presence of Slade. As the sound of his voice; or every _dip_ and _spike_ of his body… Robin had been able to trace a map on the smooth, firm skin of Slade's back as he had lain there under the sheets at three in the morning; drowsy and happy, although aching and bleeding at the same time…

The city – his memory of it – had collapsed and faded; been swallowed up by the darkness and turning of gears that had swallowed _him_ up too.

Batman and the Titans appreciated that he had been through a lot. But they did not truly _understand_. They were frustrated because even with Slade dead, even with all their attempts to heal Robin, and even with all the time Robin had spent away from Slade's manipulations, they were still confronted by his lack of interest in them and the city. Confronted by the way he was so uncharacteristically distant, and the fact that he didn't want to spend any time with them or even _talk_ to them. It upset them because they had saved him (or so they thought) from the fate that _they_ had brought upon him; he had sold himself for _them_. They therefore assumed that now that they had him back – and had "cancelled out" their debt to him – everything should and _would_ be normal again.

They couldn't understand that he had grown so accustomed to the dark he no longer had any interest in the light; he had been deprived of it so long. He had adapted; grown used to abuse and decadence. His "norm" was no longer playing Gamestation, responding to the Titans Alert and then going for pizza, as they expected it to be restored to; his "norm" was being beaten on in the guise of "combat training", being near-raped and constantly being hungry because Slade practically starved him (and whenever he was given food, he ate it like an animal; with frantic, unchewing desperation). He perhaps preferred the original norm, but human beings are adaptable creatures, the reason being brutal and simple:

They can get used to anything.

But it takes time.

And deep inside, Robin wasn't sure if he was _ever_ going to be able to shift _back_ to his original norm.

The sudden freedom he had – like now; he had gone out by himself and no-one had stopped him – unsettled him somewhat because he had grown to know only captivity.

Their gentle, secure friendship unnerved him because he had grown used to Slade's cruel and dominant manner. He found himself watching them intently for things in their behavior that were like Slade.

He searched for comfort in the very thing that had _destroyed_ him.

So far he had found nothing. They were the exact opposite of Slade; they were kind, they cared about him and his feelings and his health, and they allowed him time to heal. They didn't shout at him, they didn't hit him, they didn't threaten or taunt or terrorize him. They respected him, they _asked_ him things – didn't _order_ him to do things.

It was behavior he remembered; the behavior of his friends. Their confirmed eternal love of him, love that he didn't even have to earn or deserve.

But now he questioned them. Questioned everyone.

Was it _because_ of it that he had fallen so far? Had the terrible juxtaposition of their friendship against Slade's heartless cruelty been the cause of his eventual succumbing? Had the change simply been too much for him and he had… broken down…?

And maybe it was _because_ of that that he distanced himself from them now that they had him back. He was suddenly unnerved by Raven's quiet manner because he was used to Slade shouting at him for getting something wrong; Beast Boy's jokey good nature distracted him to despair because _Slade_ had such a _sick_ sense of humor – nothing like BB's; he shied from Cyborg's in-your-face cheerful attitude and particularly shrank back from Starfire, much to the pretty alien's distress, because he could find nothing of Slade in them at all.

Only when he looked in the mirror; perhaps when he was just out of the shower. His "styled" hair wet over the eye that he – like Slade – no longer had, mirroring his visage, and the "S" scar would stand out on his bare chest.

Only _then_ would he find what he was looking for.

In _himself_.

It was little comfort; he had known that he and Slade were alike _before_ Slade had taken and corrupted him. It had dawned on him the very second the idea of disguising himself as a thief known as Red X – a ruse designed to reel Slade in – that he and the one-eyed madman were alike.

And not just because they both only had one eye.

The left.

Safely back on the ground – becoming bored up there – he looked up at the darkening, rumbling sky and decided that although he was loath to do so, he should probably start making his way back to Titans Tower.

He didn't really want to go home. He didn't want to be watched and scrutinized by Starfire and Cyborg and Raven and Beast Boy and Batman. Knowing that they were _all_ keeping a close eye on him distressed him immensely.

He had grown to be comfortable with the intimate attention of only _one_ person at a time.

No prizes for guessing where _that_ had come from.

Still, he didn't want to be cold and wet either. At least if he went home he could hide in a closet or something.

The thought of hiding in a closet was comforting to him; and it was not unusual, either. Since returning to the Titans he often shut himself into dark little closets and cupboards and sat down in the blackness, rocking distractedly.

They reminded him of the "cage" Slade had first shut him into. The tiny dark reinforced little room. And he hadn't _liked_ that room… but he had gotten used to it. His own plain room suddenly seemed so… big and empty. Intimidating in its enormity.

The newspaper cuttings on the wall were long gone. Cyborg had informed him that Starfire had torn them all down and incinerated them with her starbolts in a fit of Tamaranean righteous fury a few days after his disappearance.

He _hated_ her for it.

So suddenly the bare walls seemed just that; _bare_. At night he couldn't sleep in there and had taken to moving; he would pull off his sheets and wrap them around himself and wander down the halls like a pale little ghost, looking restlessly for somewhere to sleep – _anywhere_ but his own bedroom.

Sometimes they would come down in the morning and find him curled up on the semi-circular couch; other times actually _under_ the coffee table. Sometimes they would not find him at all; and those would be the times at which he shut himself into one of the many empty closets in the tower and curled up in his blankets and slept _there_.

He slept longer and more deeply than he had before he had been taken; the "old" Robin had been restless, suffering near-insomnia, and had been up at the crack of dawn most mornings. The "new" Robin slept fitfully, yes, but overall he slept longer – he was always the last one up now – and was no longer awoken by someone even just entering the room.

Sometimes, when they found him – it was usually Cyborg or Beast Boy who did so – they would notice with mingled pity, weariness and disgust that his pajama pants were wet. It had been a rare occurrence at first, but now it was becoming more frequent as Robin began to dream of Slade in _that_ way more often.

They would shake his hot writhing form awake and clear their throats subtly and he would look down and flush pink and mutter his embarrassed apologies and pull his sheets around him again and stagger out to go clean himself up.

He was obviously mortified every time it happened; and yet, the "new" Robin was not nearly as mortified as the "original" Robin would have been. The "new" Robin had experienced this before; he had had quite a number of wet dreams while with Slade, most often when he was actually wrapped in the madman's arms. So he didn't just wet the sheets; he wet _Slade_ as well.

It had always amazed him how little Slade seemed to mind awaking to find his chest and stomach slick with that milky elixir, product of Robin's sedated teenaged fantasies. In fact, it seemed to highly amuse him – perhaps it was the arrogant realization that he could take Robin and fuck his little brains out and make him come all over the bedsheets, and then could wrap his arms around him and allow him to sleep, barely touching him at all, and could make him come a _second_ time without doing _anything_.

Slade was a cruel, cold, arrogant and sick-minded individual; Robin didn't _love_ him.

But hell… he _missed_ him.

Being apart from him just suddenly felt… unnatural. Wrong. Like some vital part of him was missing.

Not just his _eye_.

Oh yes, he could look in the mirror in the bathroom, or he could stare at his reflection in the glass of the huge window in the Operations Center of Titans Tower. He could _see_ how much he had changed.

Appearance-wise, he looked little different from the "original" Robin; the red, yellow and green uniform looked the same on him. His hair was still ebony and his skin was still pale. He was no taller than he had been before being taken, although he was a little skinnier from the weight he had lost and was still putting back on all these weeks later. The mask still covered his eyes – or _eye_. He didn't wear an eyepatch. He just wore the mask over both eyes and no-one could really tell because of it.

Or rather, _wouldn't_ have been able to. But the jagged asymmetric fringe Slade had cut all those weeks back was still there and so he just let it fall across the right side of his face, so that when he looked in the mirror, the first thing he was not _himself_.

He saw _Slade_.

He still ran a little gel through the shorter hair at the back of his head, spiking it up, but the front he allowed to stay natural.

This and the scar were all he had left. His apprentice uniform had been destroyed by the others; burned, he presumed, or blown into oblivion by Starfire in the same fashion as his newspaper cuttings.

He _hated_ her for it.

Did he not hate _Slade_ too? For taking him and destroying him? He found it just as difficult to sort his feelings out even now when he was _away_ from the constant barrage of mind games, though the voices he heard didn't help in the least. There was just too much there, all of it caught up in the whirling tornado that was his mind. Fear, anger, despair, hatred, love, lust, passion, weakness, desire, hopelessness, acceptance, disgust; and anything else that might fall in between were swirled into a dangerous volatile concoction, just waiting for the right catalyst to finally explode.

Somehow, when he had been with Slade, the confusion his feelings produced hadn't _mattered_; because no-one had ever asked him to sort them out. Slade had just let the chaotic emotions grow and develop and _warp_ on their own, and didn't ask Robin to try and untangle hatred from love, or fear from hope, or wants from needs.

As long as Robin was moaning and bucking underneath him in overall _defeat_… that was all Slade cared about. That satisfied him. He didn't care if Robin _loved_ him. He didn't care if Robin _hated_ him. He didn't care if Robin _feared_ him.

All he cared about was Robin's realization that he had _lost_. That Slade had _beaten_ him utterly and ultimately. That he no longer had ownership of himself. That it was _over_.

_Endgame_.

Robin hated to lose. That was partly why he had hated Slade in the first place. Partly why Slade had decided to bait and taunt him mercilessly; shining a light on a wall for a kitten and laughing when it pounces and then opens its tiny claws to gaze in confusion at what it has caught.

_Nothing_.

Robin hated to lose. Robin hated Slade. Or _had_ hated him, anyway. Slade had stolen him away from his friends by threatening their lives; bargaining on Robin's righteous nature that he would accept to save _them_. And then Slade had pulled out the magnifying glass and shown Robin the small print underneath his signature. He had beaten him, tortured and tormented him, used and abused him; stripped away every last little scrap of "Robin" and torn it up into itty bitty pieces of bloody confetti right in front of him and then scattered the remains and stamped on them for good measure. He had taken what was left and reworked it and forever tainted the canvas.

Surely Robin _should_ hate him?

He came to a sudden stop and looked up; a metal gate stretched above him, a sign crowning it which read "Funfair".

He went in. It was near empty, with just the odd person or couple wandering about. Most of them looked as though they were on their way out of the park. It figured; it was getting late and there was a storm coming…

He wrapped his cape around his shoulders as he made his way through the fair, his face set and sullen, showing nothing of what lay beneath, his head bowed a little. He noticed people nudging each other and nodding in his direction; heard the whispers of "Hey, isn't that…?"; "Yeah, it is… that Robin kid…".

He ignored them.

He wasn't a big fan of funfairs. They reminded him of circuses.

_Painfully_.

He ended up the entrance to the _Chamber of Horrors_. It wasn't running but it wasn't locked up either; and suddenly that black tunnel seemed _so_ inviting to him…

"You can't go in there, kid!"

Robin whipped around a little way into the entrance to the ride, finding a small stocky man in orange overalls approaching him. He paused, his eyes narrowed; waiting for the man to recognize him.

Inevitably, it _did_ come;

"Oh!" The man cried, as though _surprised_. "Robin, right?"

A quick once-over, taking in the bright uniform; the gaze settled on the mask. What he could see of it, anyway.

"Well, superhero or not, you can't go in there after-"

"I'm looking for… someone…" Robin interrupted softly.

The man raised his eyebrows.

"And where _are_ the rest of the Titans?"

"We split up," Robin lied easily – the other Titans were actually all back home watching some cheesy low-budget zombie movie, thinking he was moping around in some other room of the tower.

The man gave a frustrated little groan. He needed to lock up before he could go home; Robin recognized the groan as conveying this and a sudden urge to be spiteful stole across him.

"Do you need to look for him in _there_?"

"Yes." Lying again, this time out of pure malice.

The guy sighed again and flapped his hands at Robin.

"Fine, fine. I'll leave it open…"

Robin turned away and started to move off.

"Wait!"

Irritated, Robin turned to him again; noticing wearily that the man was going through his pockets now. Eventually he pulled out a sheet of paper with some figures printed on the back and a black pen.

"In return, will you sign an autograph for my kid?"

The absolute _last_ thing Robin wanted to do was sign his name on a piece of scrappy paper for some stupid kid who thought being a superhero was all fun and dandy. He debated refusing; and found himself taking the paper and the pen all the same. He turned the paper over to the plain side and smoothed it out.

"He's eight years old," the man went on unasked, pride evident in his voice. "Love him to pieces. And _he_ loves _you_."

Robin looked up at him, surprised by that comment.

"Mm-hmm, he thinks you're great," the worker went on. "He loves the Teen Titans, but _you're_ his favorite one. He cuts out all of the newspaper cuttings on the Titans and puts them on his wall. He has a big picture of _you_ on his wall, too."

"Where'd he get that?" Robin was surprised to learn that too.

"Don't know. It's like a poster." The man frowned. "He says you're the coolest; that you never give up and you always win."

"Mm." Robin shrugged.

He _always_ won? He _never_ gave up? If _that_ wasn't a lie…

He handed the paper back. The man took it and examined it, then held it out again.

"Could you put "the Boy Wonder" after your name too?"

Sighing in irritation, Robin snatched the sheet back and scribbled the desired title so that it read, as so many people knew him, _Robin the Boy Wonder_. He thrust the paper and the pen back at the worker and the man took it, overjoyed.

"Thankyou very much," he gabbled. "Jake will be so thrilled. He never stops talking about you. You're his hero."

"You're welcome." Robin deadpanned it and walked away, unreasonable anger seething within him, but still close to tears on the outside.

If that little boy knew even _half_ of the things he had done, he doubted immensely that he would _remain_ as his hero…

He kept walking, becoming enveloped by a darkness that was both inviting and soothing to him. Above, below and all around him were those tacky plastic ghosts and acetate vampires, slime monsters made of PVC, cotton spider webs.

Rubber bats suspended on strings.

He felt something in him twist and break – something _else_ – and swiped them out of his path angrily, the tears burning his one eye again. One came away in his hand and he looked at in the narrow light for a second or two, feeling its coarse rubbery body and flimsy floppy wings.

Feeling how _fake_ it was.

He threw it aside and broke into a run. Pounding through echoing dark corridors, feeling the track of where the train carts would run during the day beneath his feet. He ducked under and batted aside and leapt over all of the things that seemed to be deliberately getting in his way; things that he couldn't seem to get away from, no matter how hard and fast and _far_ he ran. His cape caught on things, he tripped over something else, bruising his shin – it felt as though he was trying to fight his way through a thicket of thorns, or trying to push through a crowd that was going the opposite way. He kept picking himself up and running again, because it was all he could _do_.

_Run_.

He was running _to_ solace. To silence and darkness, peace and loneliness.

He was running _away_ from everything _else_. His friends. Batman. The innocent man and his hero-worshipping kid.

_Slade_._  
_

It was okay to run. Running was freedom. He had not been able to run while in Slade's clutches – in any sense or meaning of the word. In Slade's domain… there had been nowhere _to_ run. All of the rooms had been so small, and always locked, so that Robin could neither run _in_ them, nor get _out_ of them and run.

What filled him now was not _exuberance_; not a feeling of _elation_ as his legs pumped and his feet pounded, echoing in darkness.

He simply ran because it felt _right_ to.

Because Slade was not there to _stop_ him.

Eventually the stitch in his side became too much – although he was obviously in no way unfit after all those years of acrobatic and martial arts training, it had been so long since he had really just… flat-out _sprinted_ like that that his body was unused to it and protested painfully at the strain of it. He slowed up, his heart thudding in his thin chest, and eventually came to slow walk, bending over and gasping, clutching at his side.

He staggered behind a display of three fiberglass vampires and sank down, his back against theirs; he curled up and buried his face in his knees, still gasping for breath. He drew his cape around his shoulders – unconsciously the way Batman did.

Somewhere above, he heard the squeaking and rustling of _real_ bats.

Not rubber. Not a man in a costume.

Nothing _fake_.

He had drawn up the harsh reality now; his time with Slade, had, if nothing else, given him _that_. The ability to see that not everything was black and white; that it was not a plastic Barbie world.

Not even _Batman_ had taught him that.

Before Slade… Robin had seen everything as good and bad. It was _wrong_ to steal and hurt and kill people; it was _right_ to help people, to be good and kind and caring. Maybe it had been his youth and naïveté – he had, after all, only been eight years old when Batman had taken him under his wing.

In _all_ senses of the word.

All kids know the difference between good and bad – they learn from fairytales; from faded storybooks and from their parents.

Robin knew _that_. He always _had_.

And, throughout all his time as Batman's sidekick and then as a Teen Titan… that was _all_ he had believed.

Good and bad.

Black and white.

No gray blurred lines in the middle.

A plastic Barbie world.

He thought of a Barbie doll now; perfect and plastic. Long blonde hair, ideal body, long legs, flawless skin, big blue eyes and flattering clothes.

How utterly _fake_.

And the world Barbie lived in; the things you would see in the window of the toy store on your way past – Starfire often liked to stop and croon at the toys, or sometimes Beast Boy, pointing out some kind of expensive remote-control car he fantasized at the havoc he could wreak with.

Barbie's pink car; a convertible with a "three-CD-changer" painted on the tiny plastic dashboard. Barbie's dream house; with its matching pink furniture and wallpaper and little cloth bedspreads.

A plastic reality.

And Barbie herself? What of _her_? The perfect plastic girl with the perfect plastic guy. Barbie and Ken; and her equally pretty and plastic friends and _their_ plastic boyfriends. Barbie's plastic pony and Barbie's plastic puppy and Barbie's plastic pool and Barbie's plastic picture frame in which was reflected the whole of Barbie's freaking perfect plastic _life._

Barbie's perfect plastic organized clear heterosexual abuse-free _ideal__life_.

It was only ironic that _he_ was supposed to be perfect too. The Boy Wonder. A Teen Titan. A _superhero_.

_He_ was supposed to be flawless and perfect; an ideal.

Another poster. Another fake plastic doll.

Maybe that was all he had been. A hero-Barbie. A _Special Edition Boy Wonder Robin_ doll. Something too beautiful and pristine and _perfect_ to be taken from the box and played with.

Until _Slade_ came along.

Slade, who had taken the box down from the shelf and torn it open; not being at all gentle in the way in which he removed the "doll" from its box.

The box being his secure life as a Teen Titan – and _Robin_ being the doll.

Slade was no collector of these things; he wasn't interested in dolls, their alternate outfits or their accessories.

He just wanted _that_ one. The _Special Edition Boy Wonder Robin_.

And he was willing to do whatever it took to _get_ it.

And once he _had_ it… he was not gentle with it, in the way a collector would have been. He didn't tenderly examine the workmanship or proudly display it on a shelf to admire it from afar. No, as soon as it was in his hands he began tossing it around like a malicious and destructive boy with his little sister's favorite rag doll; he removed the clothes (literally) and experimented with any and every which way it could be pulled and every shape into which it could be twisted. He restyled it; engraving his insignia into its (not so) plastic flesh and cutting the hair.

Remodeling and reworking it as though a doll-maker himself; until it was barely recognizable as the thing that had come out of the box in the first place

And then, when the doll was finally taken from him, it was so wrecked and destroyed it was no good to _anyone_. It wasn't worth displaying anymore.

It simply wasn't _beautiful_ anymore.

He sat miserably, contemplating that; the fact that he had been stripped away to nothing. Well, not _nothing_ – but what _was_ left was no good to anyone.

He wasn't beautiful as he had once been; his stunning appearance stolen by months of beatings, starvation and breaks and sprains that hadn't healed correctly. By scars on his skin and by blinding. He wasn't strong; he wasn't smart – Slade's cruel dominance had dulled his analytical and detective skills and overall simply crushed his ability to think rationally and for himself. His voice was hoarse, as he barely used it – he found no reason to talk to _them_ because the power of conversation had fled him too.

He was only left with the dawning that nothing was as clear cut as Barbie's plastic dreamworld.

That things in the real world weren't always so perfect. That things didn't always work out.

That good didn't _always_ prevail.

Did he blame _Batman_ for that illusion? His parents? The Titans?

Or did he blame _Slade_ – for removing the blindfold and forcing him to see beyond the pink plastic he had always known? For leaving him…

…just an empty shell. A hollow plastic doll—

He abruptly stood and slammed his fists against the fiberglass vampires, screaming as long and hard as he could; hearing it echo in the long dark tunnel even as the sound still tore from his lungs.

He took another deep gasping breath as it died off, the echo of it still going; the bats above him shifted and rustling in distraction. Not satisfied, he exhaled and was about to go for another round—

"Well, really, Robin. Anyone would think you were being _murdered_ down here…"

Robin whipped around, slamming himself right up against the vampires, at the sound of that cool, calm, malicious voice he had come to know so well; from the demands, from the angry yelling, and from the suggestive whispering in his ear late at night.

"You're not real… You're just a voice… You're dead… I-I _know _you're not real…"

"Then why do you still listen to me, my dear apprentice?"

Slade's tall, muscular yet slender form emerged from the shadows beyond the vampires, the darkness slowly giving way to bathe him in the narrow light that again Robin had come to associate with him.

Slade was like a sewer-rat – he tended to lurk in places that were cold, dark, damp and generally unlivable.

Robin couldn't get any words out; he simply pressed himself against the vampires, his mouth open slightly, trying to stammer something intelligible.

His mouth was too dry; his throat was clogged, he simply couldn't say a thing – only _stare_ at his worst enemy.

His brutal lover.

His _destroyer_.

The voice that had been haunting him for so long had conjured up the body to go with it, and Robin was left wondering just how screwed up he really was. Now there was a visual ghost to join his auditory hallucinations.

"Surprised to see me, Robin?" Slade hissed, languidly approaching him. "Or perhaps… _pleased_?"

"No, no… You're not real… You _can't _be real…"

"Really, Robin," Slade whispered, stopping a few inches short of him. He leaned into him, watching the boy flinch and shrink down, turning his head away and closing his eyes (_eye_) as though he was bracing himself for a punch to the jaw.

Slade instead ran one finger gently along his jawline, watching him grimace at the touch as though it truly hurt, as that single soft touch crushed his quickly crumbling belief.

This couldn't be a hallucination.

It was impossible for his mind to revive a dead man to this level of detail. The way he looked, how he held himself, that soft yet strangely threatening touch, even the smell of him was indescribably _real _and there, full of life right before him.

"…Not even a _hello_?" The masked man finished softly, a little laughter tinting his drawl.

He watched, amused, as a slow, steady stream of tears began to run down Robin's one visible cheek from the remaining eye he had, which was still squinched shut.

"Ah, now, Robin…" Slade wiped them away with the heel of his hand. "No tears. It's not very becoming of you…"

Robin opened his eye and turned his face towards Slade a little; the man's hand was still on his left cheek.

"H-how… are you h…? Batman, he—"

"It takes more than a man in a Halloween costume to get rid of me, Robin," Slade interrupted lethally. "Even if he _is_ Gotham's Finest. Even if he _is…__your teacher_…"

Robin was silent for a while.

"How can you… show your face again after… all that you did?" He finally managed to croak out.

"You mean _destroying_ you as I did?" Slade shrugged his broad shoulders offhandedly. "It's what I do. _You_ should know that by now." He tapped his mask. "Oh, and I'm _not_ showing my _face_…"

Robin sniffled pathetically.

"You took _everything _from me…"

"And in return I made you _mine_. When it came right down to it, Robin… wasn't _that_ all you wanted? Under me perhaps you lost yourself. I think it is safe to agree that the only thing that _saved_ you from true insanity… was knowing that you belonged _somewhere_; in someone's arms. That _someone_ wanted you."

Suddenly angry, Robin wrenched away from his former master.

"The only thing that _saved_ me… was _getting away from you_!" He shrieked, stepping backwards; clenching his fists. "I am _nothing_, and it's because of _you_! You took me, and you took everything _out_ of me… you left me with _nothing_. How can you come back to me and act like you're _proud_ of it? You're _sick_!" It was overflowing in one hateful torrent now, all his pent up rage and misdirected abandonment spewing out at the man that he knew wouldn't be affected by it.

He was proven right when Slade gave an amused little laugh.

"_Sick_?" He repeated. "_Proud_? Oh, _do_ go on, boy…"

Fiery tears stung at Robin's eye a third time at the sound of Slade's soft laughter; how could _anyone_ possibly find this _funny_?

"Don't you _realize_ that it was _wrong_?" Robin whispered, still keeping his distance, acid still hissing in his voice. "What you _did_? What you have done to me?"

Slade was well and truly smirking behind his mask now.

"Clarify for me, please."

Robin stared at him for a few moments, rendered speechless once more.

"You… you…" He clenched his teeth and fists both, gazing long and hard at the floor. "You… kidnapped me, blackmailed me… you _forced_ me to… to…"

Slade reached across and put his hand under Robin's chin, raising his face up again.

"I forced you to _what_?" Slade was clearly enjoying this little game.

"You _know_ what you did!" Robin screeched, wrenching back from him. "You… _raped_ me, you… blackmailed me, made me do… _horrible_ things…"

"Oh?" Slade shrugged again. "Well, although that may have been the case at the beginning… you cannot deny that your feelings did most certainly change, hmm? To the point where you were perhaps even a little difficult to control regarding such nightly activities. I distinctly remember the begging, the clinging, the scratching, the crying—"

"_Shut up!_" Robin screamed as though in pain, his hands at his temples. "It's your fault! _Everything_ is your fault!"

"But is it?" Slade questioned coolly. "I may have laid a trap for you, Robin; but let me assure you… you could quite easily have _avoided_ it. I was just depending on both your duty to protect your friends' welfare and also that obsession you had with me. If only you had not been so desperate to find out more about me… you could have walked around it. _None_ of this would have happened if only you hadn't been so determined to stop me… It's your fault things turned out like this."

"Stop _lying_ to me!" Robin wailed in distress, the tears springing back as he began to crack under the accusation. "I'm sick of your lies to me, I'm sick of the way you treat me like dirt… You promised to make me strong – you said that you would train me if I agreed to your terms – and instead you only _broke_ me! Every single thing you have _ever_ said to me has been a fucking _lie_!"

"You were too defiant. How can I teach someone who won't _listen_?"

"_I'm not listening to you now!_" Robin shrieked, pulling at his hair; his unstable mental state was on a rapid decline into confusion and near-insanity, which Slade sensed. "It's all _lies_! _Just leave me alone!_"

"Explain to me why it was so wrong," Slade pushed, indulging further into this little baiting game – it was all the more amusing now that Robin was screaming and ranting, curling in on himself when he had yet to do anything to him.

Robin took a deep shuddering breath and suddenly calmed himself down, gathering more ammo to sling at Slade in desperate need of denial.

"Rape is against the law," he breathed out maliciously. "Kidnapping is against the law. Blackmail is against the law. Having sex with a minor is against the law."

Slade gave a little snort.

"You aren't a _minor_, dear boy. You're a little _slut_."

Robin flinched as though he'd been slapped. He couldn't deny it.

Slade didn't feel even a prick of pity. Instead he used Robin's dejected distraction as an opportunity to dip behind him, his large hands slipping over the boy's slim shoulders.

"Oh, but your memory mercifully fails you?" He murmured. "How about I _remedy_ that?" The masked villain was whispering now, his hot breath against the back of Robin's neck.

Robin was frozen in mingled fear, disgust and rapture. This was something he remembered too well…

Oh, but he was far too easily led.

"I seem to remember your little cries," Slade muttered venomously. "Your moans, and your screams. Your begging for release, for mercy… the way you shrieked my name at the height of the climax I would so generously bestow upon you… I remember how small and wriggly you were in my arms, I remember how your body would shimmer with sweat. I remember _everything_, Robin, even if _you_ choose to ignore it; the way you sobbed, the way you writhed and arched your back and grasped at the sheets. I remember every detail of every single time I took you as my own, and that – remembering all those times – is an impressive feat, you must agree… I did _not_ give you an easy time…"

His grip on the boy's shoulders tightened further.

"Funny, hm? That my mind can conjure up these things? You are quite sure they did _not_ happen? That I raped you _every_ time…?"

Robin was silent; he could not deny those things, because he knew all too well that they had happened. They were firebranded in his mind; tattoos of his own _body's_ betrayal of him. He _did_ remember; of course he did.

How could he _forget_ all those nights in Slade's arms?

All of the different places. Floor. Chair. Bed. Bath. Table. Weapons closet.

All of the different weird angles and positions Slade had found enjoyable to try out; _Robin_ had, more often than not, been in more than a little discomfort.

All of the different items Slade had found it possible to fuck him with – a past-time inspired by the "controller incident". Needless to say, it had amused Slade a great deal more than it had Robin.

"I always _wanted_ you, you know," Slade went on, his voice so low, soft… He slipped his large hands down Robin's back and dipped under his cape, resting them on his slender waist. "From the first moment I saw you, I knew you had to be _mine_."

He stressed "mine" into Robin's ear and the boy gave a tiny pitiful whine. Looking completely dejected, staring down at the floor, with tears still streaked down his left cheek.

"I remember," Robin whispered softly. "I remember everything you did, I can't stop myself from remembering, and I really wish I could. I wish I could forget you, forget that any of this ever happened."

Robin drew in a shuddering breath, straightening slightly, feeling Slade's fingers press in just a little harder.

"If you made me, and wanted me so badly… If I really was _yours _ and no one else's… then why… _why…_" Robin's voice cracked, and the small amount of composure he had been able to gather up was snatched away by the flooding emotions within him. He pitched forward, cracking painfully onto his knees, and sank onto the floor, his face in his hands, muffling the heartrending question.

"_Why did you leave me?" _

He could forgive the kidnapping, the blackmail, the beatings, and the rape. Robin could look at everything objectively as well if he wanted to. He could overlook all the carnal pain and tortures, it was in the past, over and done with. But as soon as he had invested himself in it, seeking refuge within the horror itself… As soon as he started to depend on Slade... and as soon as he began to believe that Slade was also feeling something, even a tiny little something in that cold heart of his… As soon as that obligation became a reality, it wasn't what Slade _did _to him that Robin couldn't forgive, it was the fact that Slade _left _him that now filled him with bitter sadness and rage.

He was shaking now, unable to control himself as he slammed his fist onto the hard ground over and over, the fury of abandonment overcoming him.

"How dare you… come back like… nothing's happened… and think that… I will want you back?!" Each string of words was ground out through his clenched teeth, cutting and gravelly with anger. He turned around, still on his knees, fists still clenched and shaking, and looked up at his master.

"You left me! After everything you did! You left me all alone… you broke me and left me… H-how was I supposed… supposed to…?"

Slade silently regarded Robin's shaking kneeling form as the boy's wild-tongued words trailed into oblivion, and then without warning viciously backhanded him across the face. Before Robin could recover from the smashing blow, Slade ruthlessly snatched a handful of dark hair and forced his head down. "Since you want me so badly, feel so possessive over me… suck," he ordered savagely.

Robin blinked rapidly, tears smarting his eye, his scalp on fire, and his face going numb from the painful strike. He wasn't surprised at all by the order. Wasn't shocked by the thing that was suddenly thrust before his face. The way it was playing out… it was as if he had never left. As if they were both still back in the lair and he was simply being punished. Before he realized what he was doing, his body jerked to life on its own at the command and moved to grip the thick arousal in front of his face, only to be wrenched back.

"I did not give you permission to touch me. I said suck."

And Robin wasn't surprised by that order either. It was so like _him. _

So why wasn't he wrenching himself back? Why wasn't he struggling to his feet in order to fight back? If he really could see through Slade, then why was he nervously licking his lips, and dropping his hands obediently to his sides? Why was he leaning forward to take that _thing _in to his mouth? The taste was so familiar to him, and though he didn't like it, he had _never _liked it, he still knew what to do when confronted with that musky smell, and that thick salty taste.

He didn't know why he did any of it.

But it felt right…

Slade watched his young apprentice slowly envelope the tip in his mouth. He gripped the dark head tighter and forced more of his cock into that delectable mouth. His other arm came up and he held Robin's face in place.

Hot, it was so very hot and wet. Pulling back, he snapped his hips forward. A muffled cry came from Robin as he choked. Slade pulled out before plunging back in, gagging Robin. He stilled then, and moved the boy's head back and forth over his length.

Slade groaned as his world was reduced to the tactile sensations of Robin's mouth. The sharp scrape of teeth, the ridges and bumps, the sleek cheeks, the soft velvet tongue, the smoothness of a convulsing throat. The sheer heat surrounding him. Gasping, he sped the pace up, tightening his grip and leaving indentations on Robin's skin.

Feeling perilously close to the edge he grunted and pulled out. One hand gripped his erection, his thumb caressing the sensitive flesh, and came with a deep groan. He held Robin's face for a few more seconds as he collected himself and then finally let go, studying his work.

Pools and streaks of opalescent white coated the younger man's face and hair and Slade felt the rest of his aggression and tension bleed away.

Smiling with satisfaction, he tugged Robin's chin up and turned his face from side to side.

Robin just stared back with dull eyes, his mouth still hanging open as if in shock. As usual, the way Slade chose to force himself back into his life was immoral, and cruel, and disgusting… and he accepted it so easily. He hadn't even thought to struggle, just obeyed the command as if no time had passed between them at all.

"Oh yes," Slade purred, his voice so low now that Robin could barely hear him. "If you must know, when I took you… I never intended for certain… _feelings_ to develop. I wanted you in my grasp because to me… you were so _perfect_. And yet, I knew that you could be _more_ so. And did I not make you that? Didn't I train you, didn't I make you better, faster, stronger? Didn't I teach you how to _think _in battle? Didn't I teach you… how to _kill_?"

Robin closed the one eye he had and almost absently leaned his head back against Slade's hand and _remembered_.

That time, with the Titans; when they had shown up uninvited, at _completely the wrong time_… When they had seen just how low he had fallen without and _because_ of them. And when he had finished taking the punishment for them – the punishment that Slade felt they deserved – he had _fought_ them.

He had frightened them; hurt them; near beaten them.

All because of what and how Slade taught him – one way or another. Some things had been meticulously demonstrated; other things beaten into him.

Either way, he had had them on the ropes.

But then the tables had turned.

And suddenly the whole damned rancid fairytale had a happy ending again. The Princess was rescued, the Villain defeated, the Hero(es) had won and claimed their prize, with the aid of a mysterious stranger shrouded all in black.

A Dark Knight in all senses of the word.

Oh yes, this entire sorry and tragic story had a bit of a fairytale element to it; Robin could see that. The fair, good and innocent princess was captured by the evil villain, the heroes set out on a quest to find her (or _him_, as it was in this case; the "princess" was but a character role) and the villain was confronted and defeated.

But this wasn't one of Starfire's beloved Disney movies; the romanticized versions, based upon the Grimm Brothers' nice-ified tales of happy endings.

This was one of those old world fairy stories; where not every fairy was good, not every villain defeated and not every princess so pure.

As it happened, in this story, when the heroes finally got their princess back (s)he was not quite the same. Perhaps, in a fairy story, this would have been the "beyond happy ever after"; a story that the Grimm Brothers just couldn't quite fix. The princess was bewitched, possessed; even _impregnated_.

And Robin… well, he was not impregnated in that literal sense, because he was not a prin_cess_; such things could not happen to him. But his mind… Slade had put _something_ there, something _in_ him.

Not a child; not a living breathing burden.

Perhaps something worse.

Because a _baby_… that could be aborted; killed or abandoned upon birth. It was something that, after nine months, could be walked away from. It was cruel and heartless and cold to do so, but it could be done – and had _been_ done, infanticide being more common in human history than most would want to admit.

But Robin could not walk away from his mind; he could not walk away from _himself_.

Slade had taught Robin to be a killer; he had taught him how to destroy.

But he had also taught Robin how to destroy _himself_.

And now that everything that he had been, all that he had aspired to and every accomplishment, wish and dream that he had ever wanted and hoped for had crumbled down around him; now that the walls of his mind – his very sanity – had cracked and given way, Robin could not even find himself amidst the wreckage and rubble.

It was a painful truth; and yet, if Robin had learned anything, it was that truth was the one thing that did not lie.

It was a juxtaposition too stark.

A world too black and white.

A truth too _true_.

To Slade, it was the end of the game.

To Robin, it was the end of the world.

And, as usual, there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

Except _run_.

Slade had let his guard down as Robin relaxed in his grip; and Robin used that opportunity now, tearing himself from Slade's grasp and dashing away into the blackness.

"_ROBIN_!" Slade roared after him.

Robin ran. Further and further and further into the dark black tunnel, his feet pounding along the tracks as they had the first time.

But now he really _was_ running from something.

He didn't get very far.

Slade dropped down in front of him from the shadows above, landing heavily in a crouch and straightening up.

Suddenly he was more terrifying than _Batman_ had ever been; and Robin scraped to a halt, screaming in shock and fright. He wheeled, nearly falling over, and scrabbled away, pulling himself up as he went and running again.

Slade grabbed his cape and yanked him back; using the momentum to throw him right to the ground. Robin landed on his back and banged his head; his vision swam and his skull ached and suddenly he felt like he was _home_.

Slade knelt, straddling his waist; and Robin gave a little gasp and held a bated breath as Slade gazed down at him, his single eye icy and scrutinizing.

And then he gave a little laugh.

Tears began to bleed once again from the one set of working tear ducts that Robin had.

"Please… please don't rape me…" he begged, his voice tiny.

Slade laughed harder; and then the laugh snapped to a halt and he swung his fist back and then forwards towards Robin's unprotected face.

Robin flinched.

The blow never came.

Robin opened his eyes; and Slade grasped at the streak of jet black hair across his damaged eye and pulled it upwards off his face, bringing away some of the residue still clinging to it.

"Why, Robin… you're _afraid_ of me…" he hissed, leaning into him so closely that Robin could see himself reflected in the madman's single grey eye. "Just a few seconds ago, you seemed very willing to please me, and now this? You should know better than to beg for such a thing from me. From your _master_…" As he said it, he dabbed the sticky white liquid between two fingers, showing Robin the remaining evidence of his previous submission.

Silence.

"You _aren't_ my master," Robin said finally, his voice quavering, looking away from the accusing fluid coating Slade's fingers, taken off of his very own face.

Truthfully, he expected Slade to _really_ hit him for that; but it didn't come.

Slade simply laughed again, letting go of Robin's hair. And then it died again and he wrenched Robin's cape off over his and threw it aside.

"_NO_!" Robin screamed, struggling to free his arms and kicking violently underneath Slade. "Please, _don't_! I don't want you to! _Please_…!"

"Be quiet, Robin," Slade snapped, grasping the fastenings of Robin's red shirt. "All that screaming; you'd think you were being _raped_…"

Slade wrenched his shirt open as Robin started to cry; pausing, Slade slapped a hand over Robin's mouth.

"I told you to _be quiet_…" he hissed lethally.

Robin shook his head free, tears still streaming down the left side of his face.

"I don't _have_ to do what you tell me anymore… _I'm not your property_…" he replied shakily.

Slade laughed a third time and looked down lovingly at Robin's pale thin chest.

At the perfect "S"-shaped scar that was forever engraved there.

"Are you _quite_ sure about that?" He traced the shape of the "S" and Robin winced as though Slade's finger was the knife that had first cut it there.

And then he held up his forearm so that Robin could see his reflection in the metal gauntlet buckled over the black leather of his outfit.

"Of _course_ you're mine," he hissed. "Who _else_ do you belong to? You can no longer be a Titan, any more than you can be a sidekick to _him_… You know that you cannot be anything _other_ than mine."

"That's…" Robin trailed off and looked away, his chest heaving.

"…Not true?" Slade exhaled jadedly. "Of course it is. You _know_ it is. I took you from them and trained you to be _without_ them. You have been taught to need only one person. And that person…"

Slade touched the side of Robin's face very gently; perhaps more gently than he had ever touched him before.

"…Is _me_."

Robin closed his eye again, terrified.

"All you ever did was… _hurt_ me…"

"I _made_ you."

"_You didn't!_" Robin screamed, suddenly losing it all over again. "_Batman_ made me, he taught me and trained me, and the Titans—"

"_Hindered_ you," Slade finished sharply. "Held you back, curbed you… Face it, Robin; the skill you have now, you could never have acquired with them. Right now, your weakness rather disgusts me, because I know what you are capable of. I have _seen_ it; and _they_ have seen it. The night I set you upon them… you made a fatal mistake. It cost _you_ your eye, and it cost _me_… _you_. But the way you fought, your loyalty, your savagery… Forgive me, Robin, but I had never been proud of you before that night, nor have I since. But that night… you proved what you could do. I knew that you had learned; that you had succumbed, that you had become what I wanted from you. That night… I _was_ proud of you…"

_He's manipulating you, he's __**manipulating**__ you…_

Yes, Slade had trained him well. Robin was more often than not in a pitiful state, trailing around listlessly, silent, stricken…

But he knew how to kill; and how to do it quickly and efficiently. Where to strike, how hard, and for how long.

He also knew that he could not kill _Slade_.

But he could damn well _try_.

He brought his knees up and smashed Slade in the small of the back, pitching him off-balance; that was all Robin needed to writhe his limber body out from underneath his ex-master's bulk and scramble away. Rolling over, he came back into a crouch and then leapt upwards, the entire motion like the flowing of water into a glass.

The apprentice rarely defeats the master; and this was no exception.

Slade side-stepped when Robin was barely millimeters from him, disallowing him to abort the motion; and then Slade easily tripped him up and sent him sprawling.

Anyone _else_ would have been knocked senseless, unable to evade the attack.

Still moving with the same enthusion, Slade grasped Robin by the back of his shirt and turned him around, throwing him up against the wall of the tunnel.

He grasped the neckline of his shirt and tore the entire front away, leaving him with little more than the green sleeves and the back. Throwing the front of it to the floor, Slade stamped on the "R" and ground it hard with his steel boot.

"You are _nothing_ without me," he hissed, clutching at Robin's throat. "Do you hear me? _Nothing_! Look at you – you crave the spotlight; you _need_ it, because you have always been _in_ it. You need attention, you _need_ admiration. Oh, don't think I don't know anything about you, little circus boy. I know who you are, I know where you came from. You were _born_ into a world of colour, bright lights, hard work… You were famous at five years old, and then your parents were taken from you, and you were taken under the care of that cursed winged _rat_. He taught you, nurtured you, gave you all the one-on-one attention you needed to blossom in this line of work. He made you the _best_. And then you left him, joined your pathetic little friends to make a team, and then you led them, and once again _you_ are the star of the show, hmm? Always in the spotlight; always the best, because how you hate to be anything _less_ than the best, Robin… _how you hate it_…"

"You've _taken_ all of that from me!" Robin wailed, thrashing in Slade's grip.

"Wrong." Slade tightened his grip on the child's neck. "I made you _better_. Oh, you were always the best in your league, Robin; I have never seen another child prodigy as highly-skilled as you. Your Batman, for all his presumptuous arrogance, trained you well, there is no denying that. But I took you from the light and stripped away all your idle faults; you have no need for friends, no need for fun or recreation. I deprived you of everything that you had always had, leaving you with only the one thing you craved the most; attention. _My_ attention. And look at what you have become…"

"A monster…" Robin choked. "A worthless empty shell. You didn't _make_ me; you _destroyed_ me."

"I _did_ make you." Slade's eye flashed. "I made you _mine_."

"_You can't keep me forever_!" Robin screamed.

Seeing _white_, both of Slade's hands went around the boy's slender throat as he began to choke the life out of him. Robin clawed at his hands desperately, beginning to see stars and pretty flashing colors and _bats_.

"_I'll never let you go_," Slade murmured, his voice low and murderous as Robin began to sag in his arms. "You're _mine_. You'll _always_ be mine. I took you and _made_ you mine; I vowed when I first saw you that I would _have_ you in my grasp. I took you as mine, taught you as mine, _marked_ you as mine. I'll _never_ let go… and neither will _you_…"

Something taught by _Batman_ saved him.

Smoke bomb.

Taken by surprise and releasing the boy in his grasp, Slade staggered away, coughing.

Robin ran away.

He ran back the way he had come; and this time, knowing he had a head start on Slade, he didn't stop. He ran all the way back through the ride and _out_.

The storm had set in; lashing coins of liquid silver to the ground and scattering them to merge into puddles of concrete-coloured _spit_ of godless gods.

Salvation for men of dust who would care to collect it; liquid sun.

To Robin, it was just rain.

Nothing spectacular, metaphoric or breathtaking; just rain.

Just a storm.

Oh, but _what_ a storm…

He ran.

And he fell.

It was all too agonizingly reminiscent of a dream he had once had; and he knew this as he slipped and stumbled and fell face-first into a deep mud-slicked puddle. He lifted his head and closed (both) eyes and slammed his fists down on the concrete and screamed blue murder.

He didn't get up.

What was the point of getting up? Slade would just catch him and knock him down again. And when he did so… maybe he would lay into him. Maybe he would rape him in the rain. Maybe he would drag him away back "home", kicking and screaming.

All this time later, Robin still hated to lose the game.

But he had learned to live with it by now; because he had _never_ beaten Slade, and he never _would_. In Slade's presence, Robin had not only learned to fight and kill. He had learned to win battles against adversaries, rivals… and he had learned to _lose_ to Slade, time and time again.

It was perhaps the most important thing he had learned.

Inevitably, eventually, the shadow fell across him. Robin quivered and didn't lift his head; waiting for a blow to it instead.

The tall, broad dark figure knelt. Surprisingly gentle gloved hands went underneath his torso and heaved him upright to his knees.

Robin didn't lift his head still; until the cape closed around him, pulling him to a broad chest he recognized.

And not because he had been pinned underneath it every night for over three months.

He burst into tears.

"Why did you run away?" Batman's voice was a low growl, but laced with more worry than anger. "We've been worried sick since the storm set in. Your friends are all out looking for you…"

Caved in the dry darkness of Batman's cape, Robin did not answer him; only sobbed harder.

Suddenly he felt protected; but Slade, in truth, was only half of the problem. The other half lay in Robin's own mind; a torment from which he could not escape no matter what he did, where he went, what he said.

The _small print_ that had seeped all the way into his soul, infallible permanent ink.

Batman sighed deeply and heavily when Robin's only response was tears.

"I think maybe it would be best if I took you home to Gotham with me," he murmured, unsure if Robin was even listening. "If you're going to make a regular habit of this, it would be better if I can keep a close eye on you…"

"You… don't un-understand…!" Robin choked into his chest.

Batman opened his mouth—

"He's right." A watery _tap_ made Slade's arrival obvious. "You _don't_."

A low, savage, near-animal growl came from deep in Batman's throat and he turned, his entire body stiffening and coiling; he held Robin to his chest with one hand, while his other came behind him, inches from his utility belt.

"I understand that I won't allow you to hurt him again!" The Dark Knight spat savagely.

Slade lazily unfolded his arms; another dark hole cut into the raging, dreary world.

"How touching." He gave a little laugh, his gaze focusing on Robin, who was peeking, frightened, around Batman's shoulder at him. "The poor child; being tugged this way and that by all that would have him. How painful it must be to be so… _popular_…"

"Slade." Batman rose slowly to his full terrifying height, lightning cracking at just the right moment to give just the right effect; Robin knelt on the ground behind the Dark Knight, quivering, looking from one to the other.

Two strong, powerful, infamous, ruthless, lethal fully-grown men.

Willing to kill each other… for _him_.

Bruce wanted to _protect_ him; Slade just _wanted_ him.

For a long time, neither of them moved; each studying the other, waiting for an attack, an opening…

And then Batman made a sudden darting movement to the side and Robin lost them in the dark and the rain and the lightning and thunder.

He simply knelt and gripped his own elbows and bowed his head, terrified and confused.

He did not believe that Slade could defeat Batman; but yet he did not believe that _Batman_ could defeat _Slade_. Maybe once he would have believed in the latter, but now he knew better.

Batman hadn't killed him the first time either.

This was only proved when, less than a minute later, Batman was thrown to the ground a few feet from him in a crumpled heap, a pained grunt issuing from his form. Robin scrambled over to him and knelt next to his head; Batman was not out yet, and not unconscious, although he was bit dazed and was struggling to get up. Forgetting Slade, Robin reached to help his original mentor—

"Away from him, Robin!" Slade snapped, stopping just before Batman's fallen body. "Get away from him, boy! I'm not finished with him yet…"

"Please don't hurt him," Robin pleaded, this familiar to him too. "Please, Slade…"

Slade recognized the game; and smiled behind his mask.

"Would _you_… take the _punishment for him_?" He whispered, his eye glittering as he reached into his belt and slowly extricated that glinting silver knife.

Robin nodded earnestly, desperate to protect the Dark Knight in his own twisted little way; he pulled off one of his gloves and offered the exposed wrist up to Slade over Batman. His eye glinting wickedly again, Slade slowly began to lower the blade towards Robin's veins…

Batman threw Robin aside, leapt upwards and sent Slade to the ground with a spinning kick in a single motion so fast that Robin barely followed it. He landed in a wet crumpled heap and looked up again to see that the tables had turned.

Furious by Slade's sick games, the Dark Knight was really laying into the one-eyed madman now, punching and kicking and then jabbing and punching again, not giving him time to recover and block.

Fighting more savagely than Robin had _ever_ seen him fight anyone ever before.

The secret Pandora's Box inside Robin – that which only _Slade_ had been able to open up – cracked open once more.

_Rage_ flew out and seeped into him; possessed him, overtook him, wore him.

_Became_ him.

Getting up, no longer quivering and swaying, he assessed the situation for a moment or two more.

Stockholm Syndrome had been one more thing he had not been able to escape from.

He caught an eyeful of Batman's jugular; the muscles in his neck pushing against the shining wet black fabric of his cape.

And then he lunged.

Batman was named Gotham's Finest for a reason; he sensed Robin – savage, deadly, _lethal_ little Robin – behind him and spun; blocking, reversing the blow and flinging the boy backwards as hard as he could. Robin hit the ground and tumbled over several times before scraping to a halt in the mud.

Batman would find justification for his action later.

Or so he _thought_.

The edge of Slade's heel caught the side of his head.

It would have killed anyone else; rolling with it, it didn't kill Batman.

It damn well knocked him out, though.

Knowing he wouldn't stay out for long, Slade stepped over the fallen Dark Knight and went to Robin, who was groaning and lifting his head.

The boy's masked eye(s) widened as he saw Slade looming over him instead of Batman; he gave a little gasp.

"I'm sick of playing this ridiculous game, Robin," Slade purred lethally. "Come with me now, without a fuss, and I will allow your Halloween-costumed ex-partner to live…"

Robin shrank back from him.

"_No_," he squeaked, terrified. "You'll… only hurt me again…"

"And where _else_ will you go, Robin?" Slade sneered. "Who else will _take_ you? I saw you then; you just _attacked_ him. You attacked _Batman_ to protect _me_. As it happened, it didn't work, but you… You really had every intention of _hurting_ him…"

Slade crouched next to him as Robin recoiled away; grasping him by his wet hair to stop him going any further.

"…_You really had every intention of __**killing**__ him_," he finished, his voice a low hiss.

Robin pulled his head away miserably and curled up.

"You _belong_ with me, Robin," Slade lulled, standing up again. "You always have; and you've always _known_ it. And I have changed you; you're unstable, a bomb waiting to go off. You know that if you go back… one day, you're going to _break_ like you did there. One day, Robin… you're going to _kill_ them."

Robin looked up at him, something _new_ slipping out from that sacred secret box and into him.

"_It's over, Robin_," Slade hissed, looking briefly over at the downed Batman. "The game is long over; and where will you go now? You've lost, and I have won… so tell me, _just where will you go_…? Will you turn your back on me; on the one and only person who will _take_ you?"

He held out his hand to the boy he had destroyed.

"Come with me. It is over. _Come_."

Robin hesitated.

And then the last of him shattered.

He reached up and pulled off his mask; and Slade saw that one clear blue eye shining up at him. The other – the destroyed, blinded one – was mercifully covered by his wet hair, plastered to his face.

He reached up, straining; and his wet, muddy gloveless hand grasped Slade's.

Slade smirked as Robin allowed him to help him to his feet.

And he had him; the small, pale, skinny teenaged boy that he had always wanted and needed so badly. The unstable, dangerous and yet frailly broken _killer_ he had created.

The Batman's prodigy.

The Boy Wonder.

Poor broken little Robin.

In the mud and the rain and storm, Slade led him away; and _willingly_.

Which all along had been the _prize_.

And now that the prize had been _won_; that the small print had finally been _read_—

Robin paused as they passed Batman; who lay like a dead specimen of the creature from which he took his name, his cape sprawled beneath him like the battered wings of such a thing.

Slade tightened his grip, which had moved to Robin's wrist.

But Robin only threw his wet mask to the ground, centimeters from Batman's fingertips.

He said nothing.

"_There's my boy_," Slade murmured viciously.

_I'm not your boy_.

It didn't come.

Robin only looked up at him; and Slade saw in him a mirror. The ragged "S" on his chest, and only that one eye—

And that eye suddenly reflected the same icy emotionless serenity that was in Slade's own.

Robin walked away with him; and walked away from everything else.

Batman. The Teen Titans. The life he had led.

The Boy Wonder nevermore.

All that he had been died a second death; drowning in the tears of godless gods and the loss of what he had once been.

The violated perfect plastic Barbie; the demoralized impregnated princess. Prodigy; poster boy; Boy Wonder; leader; god of godless gods.

He was nothing more.

_There can be no shadows where there is no light. No shadows where there is only darkness._

It was over.

That was what the small print said.

The score was the same as it had _always_ been.

Robin had lost.

Slade had won.

_It was over._

_**Endgame**_.

* * *

…_Aaaaaaaaaaaaand_ that's the end. No jokes, no tricks, no kidding. 

I guess it's kind of a bittersweet ending. I'm sure it's not what some of you were expecting or indeed hoping for, but, well… it's been a long time in the works, and all we can say is…

Well, we hope you liked it. We really, really do. :)

OMG, well, we really want to thank _all_ of you who ever reviewed – I wish I could name you all, but there are just too many. Which is a shame, but also a good thing, I think (the fact that there _are_ too many of you…). Everyone, just thankyou SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much! We really appreciate the support and fangirly squees…

Although we do have a few special mentions; to **Citrus02honey** and **Coolteenzz** for their spectacular accompanying AMVs (links, as always, remain on my profile). I think there are other music videos too, but those are the mains ones (although thankyou to the creators of any other _Small Print_ vids!). Thanks also to **Rocky-White Wolf of Curses** for first being the instigator of _Small Print_ becoming more than just a one-shot, and secondly for her work on the _Small Print Shrine_; thanks to **Worren** for the wonderful banner she made for the shrine. Thankyou to **Phoenix Skyborne** and **Setsuna Mudo** for the _Small Print_ fan-art floating around on DeviantART and LiveJournal (and thanks, Setsuna, for not kicking my ass over our very similar stories…).

Wow. It became more popular than I ever would have believed, and… well… thanks, guys. Thankyou very much. :D

We totally have other projects planned in the future, so… keep your eyes open. Ka ka ka.

**Narroch** here… One final thing. A lot of you entered our little summary contest, and they were all great! We had an awesome turnout for such an unorthodox request. Unfortunately… all the email addresses on the anonymous reviews were removed. Damn you FFN… Really sorry about that anticlimactic end, but we don't have a winner for the contest because we aren't able to contact anyone who entered. But there were some really good ones on there! Check them out in the reviews.

Alright everybody, it has been chill ficcing with you!

Peace out.

**Narroch **_and_** RobinRocks**

xXx


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